Tale of Two Jacks
by kimsmith
Summary: An SG-1 team from an alternative universe arrives at SGC, only familiar faces are quite different. Rated Mature for mild sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

A Tale of Two Jacks.

_Notes:_

_This story spans several seasons, and will contain spoilers in reference to episodes. It is my intent to write material that compliments and parallels canon without contradiction. Any errors, unintentional as they may be, are entirely mine._

_It is a convenience for the show's writers to equate one year for every season. However, taking into account recovery time from various injuries, and that some stories span more than one week (such as the 100 days Jack spends stuck on Edora), it makes sense to me that each season spans time greater than one year. Therefore, there is plenty of space between episodes for stories such as this to take place._

_This story opens late in Season 2, when a palm print was required to open the iris._

Part 1. A Pair of Jacks or Better to Open.

Trouble began for the SGC as it usually did: with the gate charging up, chevrons lighting, the inner wheel spinning, the iris grinding shut as alarms came to life. Sergeant Harriman announced, "Incoming wormhole!" When the General came to stand next to him, he reported, "Receiving IDC from SG-1, sir."

"Right on time," General Hammond noted. "Open it, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. Opening the iris." The sergeant's hand fit into the ID box and the shield grated open.

A moment later, the event horizon rippled and boots broke the surface. Boots followed by legs dressed in familiar green fatigues.

It took a moment, however, for Hammond to register that those legs were not, following the usual attachments upward, connected to the faces he expected to see. He grabbed the microphone and barked, "Shut down the gate! Close the iris! Security to the gate room!"

Harriman responded quickly. The wormhole whooshed off even as the iris scraped shut over the empty space.

Three arrivals on the ramp spun, weapons coming up as if expecting someone on their heels.

"Drop your weapons!" Captain Reynolds shouted as marines took up positions between the ramp and the closing security doors.

A six foot something redhead looked down at the row of weapons pointed her direction, eyebrows lifting. "Us? You mean us?" Hesitantly, realizing that they did, indeed, mean her, she gave the command, "Do it," to her two companions and, hands moving slowly, obediently disconnected her P-90. "Really, guys, what's up?"

At that moment, the stargate charged up again.

Marines brusquely enveloped the unresisting arrivals, moving them quickly down the ramp as the wormhole bang-whooshed against the iris.

Sergeant Harriman looked a question up at Hammond. "Receiving IDC from SG-1, sir."

The general scowled. "Another, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

Two signals only moments apart. Hammond had to wonder what the hell was going on. Was their code compromised? Or had O'Neill just sent ahead three visitors? If he had, where had the strangers gotten the BDUs and their equipment? Had these people managed to compromise his field team in some way? "Sergeant, send a signal back through. Activate the MALP camera, and request a visual. Let's be sure who we're talking to this time."

"Yes, sir." Harriman spoke into the transmitter, "Sierra Gulf One Niner, this is Sierra Gulf Charlie. Requesting visual contact."

The MALP signal connected, the sunny view of conifers in the background shifting as the distant camera was manually tilted upward. Colonel Jack O'Neill's familiar face filled the screen. "SG-one-niner here, Sierra Gulf Charlie."

"Good to see you, SG-1-Niner," Hammond radioed back.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

Indeed there was. "Did you just send someone through the gate?"

"No one here but us chickens, sir."

Although that was ample opportunity, O'Neill wasn't using any code to indicate duress, and he certainly looked like he still had his own gear and clothes. Hammond hesitated, looking down at the strangers in the gateroom. To Harriman, "Open the iris, Sergeant." Back to O'Neill, "We just wanted visual confirmation, Colonel." They could discuss the rest when SG-1 was back. "Come on home."

"Copy that," O'Neill responded. "On our way, sir."

Moments later, the real SG-1 stepped out onto the ramp—all four of them.

Still being relieved of weapons and equipment by the swarm of marines, the redheaded stranger looked up at Jack, eyeing his uniform. "Who are you?"

Jack returned the look, frowning. He knew the face of every SG team that passed through the gate, and this woman wasn't one of them. She sure as hell wasn't entitled to the SG-1 patch on her sleeve. "Just who the hell are you?"

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, US Air Force."

He did a double take, as did his team, exchanging looks behind him.

"And you're not one of my people," the redhead finished. "Teal'c, did you pick up some friends on the way home?"

Teal'c looked at her coolly. "I did not."

"Well," Jack pointed two fingers at the stranger, "you sure as hell ain't me."

"What do you mean," she shot back, "you?"

"As in, _I'm _Colonel Jack O'Neill. And you're not."

The woman's eyes went straight up to Hammond. "Sir?"

_She expected him to know her?_ Hammond's mouth was a line. Two identical SG-1 IDC signals, within moments of each other? He leaned over to the microphone. "You are not Colonel Jack O'Neill. Captain Reynolds, take them into custody and down to the infirmary isolation rooms." Releasing the mic button, he told Harriman, "I want Captain Fraiser on this immediately." These strangers with their clothes and their IDC codes could be some kind of plant, carrying a virus, or worse—God knew, they had seen worse before—and he needed to know if the SGC had been exposed to anything ASAP.

Of the two others who had arrived with the woman claiming to be O'Neill, the lean blonde man pointed at Daniel Jackson, asking, "Your name wouldn't happen to be Sam Carter, would it?"

Daniel blinked, then shook his head. "Um, no. Jackson. Daniel Jackson."

The shortest of the three strangers, a dumpling of a woman with sandy blonde hair that curled at her collar, started, eyes widening. As she pushed glasses back up her nose, Daniel absently mirrored the gesture.

The slim woman beside Daniel answered, "I'm Major Sam Carter."

The thin man half turned to meet her eyes. "Interesting. So am I."

"Dani," the red haired woman said in a familiar, aggravated tone, "you better not have been playing with that mirror thingy again."

Both Daniel and the bespectacled woman jumped guiltily. "Um, no," they said in sync. "That was—um." The pair blinked at each other, stammering off.

"Destroyed," the two Sams finished.

"Indeed," rumbled Teal'c from behind Jack.

"Nice," the strange O'Neill said.

Jack looked up at Hammond.

The general didn't have a good answer, either. "Follow protocol," he ordered. It was off to the infirmary even for the real SG-1.

"Come on, campers," Jack said. "Let's go get cleared so we can debrief."

The strange arrivals exchanged looks. The redhead shrugged. To Reynolds, she said, "You heard the General, Captain. Bring on the protocol."

The irreverant tone was so familiar, Reynolds barely caught himself before he replied with a _yes ma'am _just out of habit. While the real SG-1 headed off for the infirmary, his security team escorted the others down to the isolation wards.

The strangers made no complaint when they were told to strip down to skivvies. As his team took their things, Reynolds paused over a couple of the items. He didn't have to be a scientist to know that the watch that the strange O'Neill wore wasn't USAF issue, and their Carter's k-bar was not exactly American made. Both definitely looked like a mix of alien alloys, even to his untrained eye, and he had to wonder if there was anything else unusual in their gear. Or dangerous.

Definitely time to take the full precautions with all of it, he determined. Once the visitors were separated from their gear however, and led off to another room, a more thorough search of the stranger's equipment turned up nothing else unexpected. At least, once Reynolds got over the surprise of finding their own team's gear in the strangers' packs. A double check revealed that, yes, the real SG-1's gear was still in their possession. Now there were just duplicates. Reynolds shook his head at the real Colonel O'Neill. "I'll get these down to Dr. Lee."

"You do that," Jack agreed. This was just . . . creepy.

In the meantime, Dr. Frasier and her medical team had set to work.

Janet quickly found she was grateful the teams were in two separate rooms. It was eerie how they echoed each other, wondering about the others, pretty much asking the same questions. "That guy had my name?" and, "I don't look anything like her, do I?" being the first topic of discussion. "Are we sure _we're _in the right place?" being another.

"You really don't know us?" the small blonde asked from behind those strangely familiar spectacles.

Janet saw no reason not to answer. "I've never seen you before."

"Dr. Danielle Jackson," the stranger introduced herself. "Pleased to meet you."

"Again," the strange O'Neill muttered.

"Pleased, I'm sure," Janet returned.

Danielle smiled. "We're going to get along famously."

The strangers compliantly let Dr. Frasier and her team withdraw blood and do basic physical checks, but when it came time to take them down for for X-Rays and MRIs, the woman O'Neill interposed herself between her companions and the doorway. Arms crossed, she looked evenly at the doctor. "Now, Doc," she said reasonably, "I'd really rather the three of us went together."

Janet hesitated, uncertain at the sudden decision to be confrontational. If the newcomers had wanted to cause trouble, they had already had plenty of opportunity before they were disarmed.

But the stranger just stood there, eyes unyielding, even when Reynolds took a half step her direction.

Janet shook her head at the marine. The red phone was only a few steps away, and when Janet dialed, she was transferred immediately to the general. "We have a small problem."

Already cleared by Frasier's team, Jack had joined Hammond upstairs, and was watching the doctor's progress on the base cameras. Jack didn't have to guess why the stranger had protested: it was basic field training that when taken captive, resist letting your team be split up. The woman was seeing how hospitable her captors were. "Sir," he suggested, "have the doc take them together."

Hammond nodded that he already understood. Picking up the phone on the first ring, he listened, then answered, "I understand, Captain. You have clearance to go ahead and take the three of them at the same time." It cost little to let them have that much.

"Yes, sir." Janet hung up the red line. "If you'll all come this way," she told the visitors.

The team leader opened hands, acknowledging her host's generosity. "Thanks, Doc. Appreciate that."

Janet received no other protest, not even when she quarantined the threesome in one of the base's VIP holding rooms. By then, the strangers were only asking about food, showers, and a fresh change of clothes, all of which was provided.

Not that the green BDUs fit the diminuative Jackson, who gave a long suffering sigh and set to work rolling up sleeves and the bottoms of her pants so she could walk without tripping.

It wasn't until the security door was closed and the marines were finally outside that the thin blonde man turned to his CO and said, "Did you notice the flags, ma'am?"

Their O'Neill shook her head. "Flags?"

He touched his shoulder where the US flag patch would have been on his uniform and said pointedly, "Fifty stars."

She gave him a disbelieving look. How the hell did he have the eyesight to count the little tiny stars? Then she shook her head, stretching out on one of the bottom bunks. Carter was unbelievable sometimes. Still, she had to give him credit for noticing. "You think our Goa'ould interrogators messed up, Major?"

He shook his head. "I don't think the Goa'ould have the technological savvy to hijack a wormhole, ma'am. If they could, we'd have been dead a long time ago."

"That sure looked like Major General George Hammond to me. And Captain Frasier. And Reynolds and Wells, and Harriman and—"

"Yes, ma'am. It looks like home. But I don't think it is."

A sigh. "You were right, Sammy."

It wasn't in him to say, _'I told you so,'_ to anyone, much less his superior, and Carter wasn't the kind to do so in any case. "Without access to tools and data, ma'am, there's no way to be sure exactly what's happened. But if they're really an SGC, maybe we can convince them to help us."

The redhead's eyes suddenly widened, then her face wrinkled. "Ew!"

"Ma'am?"

"A male me? I mean," she opened hands, unable to say the words, and then just, "Ew!"

The little blonde woman _tsked_. "I think we have more important things to think about than whether or not your counterpart hooked up with your exes."

The colonel sat up, her face screwing up even more. "What?! How could you even think that? Double ew, Dani!"

The compact blonde rolled her eyes in disgust. "Jack."

Hands opened in protest, the unspoken, _I wasn't the one to bring it up._

A scolding, "Jack!"

"We have about forty-eight hours," their Carter pushed fingers through thinning hair, "before we experience entropic cascade failure. I need to get started with that data."

"They're not going to let you do anything tonight," the redhead said. "The little Napoleonic Bonaparte won't get all her tests back until morning."

"I don't even have anything to make notes on," Carter groused, looking around the room. A motel would at least have had some stationary.

"All the more reason to get some shuteye."

"Maybe they'd give me some paper at least."

"That's an order, Major."

She was right, of course. And it had been a long day. Still, Sam wished he could do something, get started somewhere. Already his head was filling up with figures, angles, questions he needed answers for. "Yes, ma'am."

The next morning, Colonel Jack O'Neill carefully combed the security tape from their room. However, there wasn't much more to see or hear than that one brief, private dialogue.

A dialogue made more creepy because he _knew, _he just plain knew what that woman was thinking every time she said something. C'mon, _fifty stars? _That Carter kid had damned good eyesight. Jack wondered how many stars they had expected to see.

On the video, their Carter was the last to obediently hit his bunk, turning out the light. There was no talking, no handsign subtly passed in the darkness visible in the slant of light from the security door. Their Carter tossed and turned restlessly most of the night, but the women were cutting some Zs in short order.

Their O'Neill wasn't so deeply asleep, Jack noted, that she didn't notice the changing of the guard. When the shadows crossed the little window in the doorway as marines changed places, she shifted in her bunk, just enough to let Jack know that she was as light a sleeper in the field as he was. Twice she got up to see who was posted, once touching the wall as if the see if it was the familiar SGC concrete. He could almost hear her reassuring herself that it was not some Goa'ould alloy.

Yep, knowing what she was thinking was creepy, alright.

And she might have talked about the place being similar to home, but the stranger claiming Jack's name wasn't _that _relaxed about being here. If she thought like him at all, she had said the things she did not because she wanted her teammates to let their guard down, but to encourage them to get some sleep while she was still fresh enough to watch over them. Aware that, no matter how gently they had been treated, they were still captives, and she didn't want the others to come into interrogations with tired minds.

And there would be an interrogation. She had to know their hosts would have questions. If she really was from an SGC, she had to suspect that their room was bugged, with an unseen camera or two in place. And if she really was a female him—_oi,_ this was going to be an aspirin heavy day, he knew already—then she knew exactly where those bugs and cameras were because she had supervised their placement in her own parallel base.

In fact, her entire conversation might have even been just for his benefit. It was, after all, something he might have done.

Jack filed that particular suspicion away for later.

He was not the only early arrival at the base that morning.

Janet was waiting when test results started trickling in to her office. She had to do a double, then a triple check. Something, definitely something, was going on here. At 0600, she took her files and went in search of the general.

As she passed through the briefing room on the way to Hammond's office, she could see Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson had spread some journals and papers out on the briefing room table.

"It's creepy, Jack," Daniel was saying. "_Her_ journal, _my _journal. They're the same damn notes, verbatim."

"I saw that, Daniel," Jack said.

"Jack," he flipped the journals closed, thrusting the spines under his friend's nose, "they have the same scratches." He flipped them both back over, crinkled pages falling open. "The same damned coffee stains! Do you realize how hard it would be to duplicate a coffee stain?"

"Mornin' Doc," Jack called back over his shoulder.

"Colonel," Janet said on her way by. "Dr. Jackson."

"Dr. Frasier," Daniel returned, not neglecting to flash her a dimpled smile.

"The question," Jack said to his team member, "is whether the journal is authentic, Dr. Archaeologist. Or if it's just some made up something or other someone stuck in there as bait."

"I'm telling you," Daniel said slowly, as he did when he was resisting strangling a particularly dense USAF colonel, "I can't tell the two of them apart. And I just made a handful of these notes right before we came through the gate—you know, when Sam was dialing us home. When did anyone have _time _to forge this one?"

"Captain," Hammond greeted the doctor with his slow Texas twang. "Come in, take a seat. I take it you have some news for me."

"Sir, I don't know where to start," Janet said as she took the chair opposite his.

Hammond went straight to the basics. "Are they human?"

"Oh, they're very human, sir."

"So we're not looking at androids."

"Not a _comtraya_ among them, sir, although I almost wish there were. At least I could explain that."

"What are you saying, Doctor?" He noted on the file Janet passed him that it was Jacqueline O'Neill, not Jonathan. There was some telling them apart on paper, at least.

"Except for the X and Y factor," Janet replied, "they have the exact same alleles as our team. That's not unusual in Siamese twins, sir, who would be the same sex, but fraternal twins don't match this way."

"They don't?"

"No, sir. Siamese twins happen when the same fertilized egg splits and becomes two people, two born from the same DNA, so in essence, the active genes are identical. Fraternal twins are when two separate eggs are fertilized and share a womb, resulting in sibling DNA, which is not an exact copy of the same active genes. I've sent blood off to Area 51 for a more thorough gene mapping, to be sure, but I suspect this goes beyond shared alleles. And then there are the physical anomalies."

"Which are?"

"They have the exact same tooth shape, even the same fingerprints. Not nearly the same, sir, but _exactly _the same, right down to Major Carter's mole. Even scars and bone history is startlingly similar."

He seized on that. "Startlingly similar? But not exactly the same."

"Not quite." In each folder, Frasier had compiled a comparison page, noting discrepancies. Jacqueline, Hammond saw from the notes, had better knees than his man, but there was a similar history of broken bones that showed up on X-rays. Hammond knew enough about broken bones to know that, just like coffee stains, it wasn't possible to simply break a bone to duplicate the eerily similar lines of fracture in the O'Neills' films.

"Then there's this," Janet went on, changing files for him, "The extra protein left by Jolinar in both Carters. And it's not just their bodies that have this twin-like effect." She handed over the two sets of dogtags.

One was for a Major Samantha Carter, the other for a Major Samuel Carter, with the same ID numbers. Otherwise, the tags were identical down to a dent crimped in one end.

Janet glanced back at the briefing room where Daniel was still shaking his head over the pair of journals. "I see Dr. Jackson is finding similarities with other possessions."

"Doctor," Hammond declared, "do you think someone cloned my people and made some kind of mental download so these imposters think they're someone they're not?"

"With the technology we've seen, sir, I have to believe almost anything is possible. And yet, with a mental download, as you put it, they would remember being male or female. This group knows their own gender, sir. And," she hesitated. At the general's encouraging nod, she added, "If they were supposed to replace our people and infiltrate Stargate Command, then why make them so noticeable? It just doesn't make sense that someone with that kind of technology would make such an obvious mistake."

"I agree, Doctor." The general sighed, looking down at the evidence of the folders, considering the implications. Then he pushed back his chair, indicating to the doctor that she should join him with his second in command. "Colonel."

Already knowing what was on the general's mind, Jack was frowning at the journals, trying to think how best to get the answers they needed.

Daniel voiced the most direct option. "You want us to go talk to them?"

"No." Jack shook his head. You didn't put your best people in a locked room with suspicious characters right off the bat. "Not yet."

Hammond asked, "Another idea, Colonel?"

"Let's shake things up a little bit, see how they react." At the general's nod, "We'll have T bring them up here, give Mr. Chatty Kathy a chance to talk them up. See what kind of questions they ask him along the way."

Hammond nodded. "Teal'c."

Mr. Chatty Kathy? Teal'c glanced around, but he did not see anyone by that name. "Am I to wait here, Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack pinched eyebrows at him. "What?"

"To accompany Mr. Chatty Kathy?"

"Ah—just an expression, Teal'c. You go on down now."

Teal'c bowed his head and departed.

Jack picked up the video remote, dialing up the security feed to the Visitor's room. The briefing room monitor filled with three split screens until he adjusted it, bringing up the one with the best view of the threesome sitting around their room's little table.

"If you're not going to drink that," Danielle was saying, pointing meaningfully at a coffee mug.

"Take it." Jacqueline pushed it her direction. "But I'm cutting you off at three."

Their Carter started to say something, but at Danielle's glance, thought better of it. Their O'Neill caught the exchange, looked from one to the other. "What?"

Carter put down his napkin, retreating with, "I should brush my teeth."

At the archaeologist's blank look, the colonel said pointedly, "You could let Carter drink his own coffee."

Danielle shrugged. "Why start a new habit?"

In the briefing room, Jack looked once at Daniel, but the younger man remained focused on the screen, as if what had been spoken were some sage puzzle requiring intense consideration.

At the knock on their door, Danielle ruefully downed the last cold swish of coffee. "Finally." It was Jackqueline, however, who stepped between her and the door.

Teal'c filled the doorway, rumbling matter-of-factly into the room, "You are to be brought for questioning."

_Subtle_, Jack thought. Teal'c was always the one for subtlety.

At those words, however, Jacqueline O'Neill's stance changed ever so slightly. She took a small step, placing herself a little closer to the Jaffa.

And Jack saw the casual, and yet not at all casual shift in her weight, hands coming to rest at her sides. "Shit!" he cursed, realizing just what message he had just sent, what message he would have received if he had been the one in that room and Apophis' Prime—no matter that it was _former _prime—had come for them.

What anyone who had spent any time at all as a prisoner without the courtesies of the Geneva Convention would think, what someone who had endured unethical interrogations would assume, what would go through a professional paranoid's mind: that maybe SGCs in alternate realities were different, and maybe this one wasn't on the same ethical wavelength as her home. After all, if Hammond wanted someone to do dirty work, he wouldn't send someone who had to answer to the government or the USAF.

Never mind that Hammond didn't work that way—there were people who did.

Ignoring startled looks from his companions, O'Neill was out of the general's office fast enough to make his knees protest even before he hit the stairs, taking them two, three at a time, gripping the railing and doing a controlled jump the last six down a level. Running in a way that formerly retired USAF officers who liked so much beer and fishing shouldn't have to run.

He gripped the doorframe and skidded to a stop just behind the Jaffa. _Oh, thank god_—everyone was still in one piece. "Teal'c, buddy!" he exclaimed, gripping the big man's shoulder, tugging.

As if Teal'c could be moved by anything less than a bulldozer. The big Jaffa had spent the last few moments in unbroken eye contact with the strange O'Neill. Yes, he had noticed the shift in weight, the silent preparation. And he had seen, in her eyes, that she knew he had seen. Thus the moment of hesitation, of two warriors faced off, taking each other's measure, mentally weighing weakness. Just as he noticed that she did not seize the moment during O'Neill's distractive behavior. Finally, he took a step back, allowing his friend to guide him out of the way.

"Changed my mind!" Jack was saying quickly, deliberately placing himself between the two. "Why don't you leave this one to me, pal. Go on out there in the hall, out of the way." _Out of reach of cornered air force colonels with black ops training who might, out of desperation, decide she had no choice but take some damage_. He grinned, trying to send the unspoken message, _See? We didn't mean it. Please don't hurt anyone. Please don't make us hurt you. _He read what he knew, _he just knew, _was an unforgiving look in her eye. "I'm sorry," he said immediately, sobering, addressing directly that part of himself in her that would understand, that part of himself he tried so hard not to let his team see. "I was the one who sent him down here. That wasn't what you think."

"Really?" she said neutrally. "And what was it I was thinking?"

No dancing around it, not if he wanted any cooperation out of her. "We're not in Baghdad."

Her expression didn't change, but eyes shifted, moving over him, sizing him up in turn.

She was a little heavier than he was, he noted, although that was to be expected, as women tended to carry an extra 15% body fat; hers was mostly padding the appropriate places women tended to curve in a way he hoped he never did. Her face was too square for any beauty contests, though. She looked, he thought, a bit too much like him for that. He could almost read the thoughts flickering behind those eerily familiareyes, risks weighed, options discarded. The same split second mental chess he engaged in as she factored in the history that he already knew, from comparing Janet's x-rays, was written in both their bones.

Daniel was right; in this case, his suggestion wasn't just the best approach, but the only approach. Not one to linger over mistakes, he opened a hand. "Look, why don't you and your team come on up to the briefing room? Your Jackson can chat with my Jackson, your Carter with my Carter, and we can all sit down and have a visit. Together. Maybe we can figure out what's going on, and what to do about it."

At last some of the tension left those deceptively relaxed looking hands.

Jack was more than a little relieved that whatever she did next wasn't going to involve attempting to dismember anyone. Particularly him, as he had strategically placed himself as her nearest target.

But before Jacqueline O'Neill could say anything, Danielle Jackson stepped out from behind her. "Oh, can we go, already? There's coffee up there, right?"

Jack had to suppress a grin. Exactly how Daniel would cut him off, one of those annoying Jackson actions that had made Jack have to resist the impulse to strangle the man, on more than one occasion. Were archaeologists/linguists just naturally oblivious to the subtleties of what had just happened? _Perhaps not_, he thought as he looked down at those disarming blue eyes; perhaps not so much as he thought, anyway. And this morning, he was more than a little grateful to be on the receiving end of that dimpled smile. Jack tilted his head, a half Teal'c-like nod. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the impulse to offer her his arm. "Your wish is my command, ma'am. Right this way, Doctor Jackson. Perhaps we can even convince Daniel to part with some of his private coffee stash?"

"You know about that, do you?"

"Only that he doesn't put base coffee in his office coffeemaker."

Deliberately addressing the nearest hallway camera, she said, "If he were to bring up the same stuff kept in my bottom drawer on the right—not the left, mind you—you might yet convince me of the sincerity of your good intentions, Colonel O'Neill."

Jacqueline exhaled. "Way to resist their interrogation techniques, Dani."

Back upstairs, Daniel cast an apologetic glance at the general and his coffee dispenser before he took the hint and hit the stairs. He passed Samantha on her way up. "Secret's out."

"Which one?" she wondered.

"Ah—my coffee."

"But not—"

"Nope."

"Forgivable, then."

An aggrieved, "For you," before he was past.

Back upstairs, Teal'c took up a watchful position with the marines.

"General Hammond, sir," Jack said, "may I present our guests. I believe we all know each other."

Hammond gave him a nod. If this was how his 2IC wanted to play it, he was willing to give the man the lead. He addressed the strangers, "Obviously, you are not our SG-1."

"Oh, we know we're not in Kansas anymore, General," Jacqueline added the title both out of habit and out of respect to the man who shared a parallel with her own CO. "And I understand your skepticism, sir." There was no point pretending she didn't share it. "But, we think we have an idea what's going on. We're pretty sure we're in an alternative lifestyle."

"Alternate reality, ma'am," Samuel corrected.

A wave. "Yeah, that thing."

"A pleasure to meet you," Danielle said, offering her hand to the general and then their Carter. "Is it Major Carter?"

Samantha smiled. "Yes. I take it you've met someone who wasn't?"

"He was a civilian. I'm finding I have a bit of a preference for air force officers."

Samuel, who had been looking intently at Samantha, said, "What number am I thinking of?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "Pi."

"To what degree?"

"Seventeen."

Samuel pursed his lips. "Okay."

She turned the question back on him. "What about a number I'm thinking of?"

"Square root of negative one."

Samantha nodded, and threw out, "Twenty-three."

He followed with, "Two-hundred fifty-six."

"I wonder how long we could keep this up?"

"Just being together, we're bound to have a divergent influence."

She lifted eyebrows. "31x squared?"

"Okay," he admitted, "it might take some time before the influence in obvious."

"It's a physical similarity, too."

"DNA?"

"Captain Frasier confirmed identical alleles. And this." Carter gestured at the two leather bound journals on the long table. To Danielle, "Can you tell them apart?"

Dani reached out to touch one, then flipped them open, coffee stained pages crinkling. "So, your Jack is a bit clumsy, too."

Samantha shot a guilty glance at her CO.

Jack returned the look. "What? If Daniel didn't want the doohickey played with, he wouldn't have left it on the end of his desk."

"I've heard that one before," Dani said mildly, looking back and forth between two pages, running fingers over wrinkles.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jacqueline protested.

Danielle held a journal to her face, inhaling. "Ah, the aroma of quality coffee."

"Doohickey," Jacqueline shot back. "Edge of desk. Not my fault."

"Thus an extremely rare bone flute from the Meiji Era is relegated to being a doohickey. Do you have any idea," Dani tilted her head Jacqueline's direction, "how difficult it would be to duplicate a coffee stain? Exactly?"

Jacqueline rose up on her toes. "Is that like an ink blot test? See any butterflies?"

"Mostly I'm seeing my journal under the hand dryer in the restroom while someone paces around the gate room and blames me for leaving late."

Hammond resisted a grin. Not only was the interaction between the colonel and the doctor remarkably similar to the people he knew so well, he had seen his own colonel doing just that the previous morning.

At that moment, Daniel came up the stairs, a carafe in one hand. "I thought someone might like some coffee."

"Good timing," two O'Neills said together, bumping elbows as they reached for the coffee cups on the side table. They stepped back, started forward, and then were pushed out of the way by Danielle.

"You're a gentleman and a scholar," Dani said gratefully, holding cups for him pour. The first she passed off to Hammond, the second and third were for herself and Daniel.

Still pouring, Daniel graced her with one of his most charming smiles. "I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson."

"I'm Dr. Danielle Jackson," she offered a hand. "For bringing the good stuff," she inhaled, confirming the flavor, "you can call me Dani."

He returned the clasp. Her hand, he thought, was incredibly small, soft. A practiced grip, but warm and welcoming nonetheless. "Hi, Dani. Call me Daniel."

"Civilian archaeologist?"

"And linguist."

Dani asked something else, although not in English.

He recognized the ancient Egyptian without effort. _"How many languages do you speak?"_ she had asked. Hel tilted his head, intrigued, then answered in the same language, _"__I am skilled with twenty-seven now, although I'm still learning_._" _It used to be twenty-three, of course, but now he was decently conversant with Goa'uld and he was quickly picking up others along the way.

"_We must always be learning," _Dani pointed out in Spanish. _"To stop is to fall behind."_

He understood the sentiment all too well; he couldn't afford to fall behind. He followed in Babylonian, _"__How many do you speak?"_

The woman smiled, replying in kind, _"__Twenty-seven." _Changing to yet another, _"__What writings have you learned in your travels?"_

The question and answer between them quickly accelerated. Without stopping to explain to their team, each tried to think of questions that required a knowledge of the language in a way that couldn't be spur of the moment coached, that required answers that would give them a good idea of the other's accent and skill. For the most part, their companions caught only a few familiar words—Abydos, Kerwan—names of planets, races, or people. After a few minutes, the woman asked a question, then made patterns on the table, Daniel watching, reading the unseen marks by following her fingertip, then doing the same as they switched to something of a written test.

The two O'Neills exchanged a glance, shook heads with an _I have no idea_ shrug.

His counterpart was, Jack thought, looking more relaxed. Still suspicious. Hell, front line colonels were paid to be suspicious. But the other members of their teams were making connections, drawing parallels, winning each other over. He suspected it went a long way with her that Danielle had, in her own way, authenticated the journals.

While the exchange between linguists continued, Samuel said, "When I first powered up the gate for home, I thought it looked reddish. It was just a glimpse when the gate first opened, so I wasn't really sure."

"It's really colorless," Major Samantha Carter injected.

"Yes," he agreed. "But we perceive it as blue."

"And the point?" his colonel prompted.

"It made me think of the Doppler Shift," Samuel explained. "Blue shift in starlight indicates that the source is moving toward the viewer. Red shift indicates the source is moving away. And I thought, if the wormhole that opened was red shifted, maybe we walked into a different kind of wormhole than we usually take, one moving in a different direction."

Samantha speculated, "You're thinking maybe instead of a slow moving, short passage, it kicked you into the fast lane," Samantha finished, "and skipped you across planes that separate alternative realities?"

He was nodding.

"M theory?" she wondered.

"With abstract M theory, would it make a difference?"

"Are we ever sure we're coming back to the same place we left in the first place?"

"Regardless of wormholes, are we sure we sleep in the same bed we leave in the morning?"

"I've wondered exactly the same," Samantha said, delighted to find someone else who understood the implication.

Samuel pointed out, "Never came home to a difference this obvious before, though."

"To two occupying the same M-zone," she nodded.

Other air force officers exchanged looks. No, no one else had any idea what they were talking about either. "My head," two Jacks warned together.

Samantha ducked her head, and Samuel cleared his throat self consciously. "M theory aside," he said, "we're pretty sure we're in a parallel reality the same way we would be if delivered by the Quantum Mirror. The question is the cause."

"Was there a solar flare?" Samantha wondered.

"It's possible," Samuel admitted. "Although the sun of P63-934 isn't between there and Earth, and shouldn't have had an impact even if there was one."

The same planet, Jack noted, his team had come from. No one had told them that.

"And our sun isn't between the stargates, either," Samantha went on.

"Nor did we have to override the mechanism to get a gate lock," Samuel followed. "I didn't see any of the usual suspects we've experienced when we've had gate problems before. Which," he added, "doesn't mean much—"

"Considering," Samantha finished for him, "how little we really know about the technology itself."

"There's also the possibility that there was something on the planet we missed completely. Some artifact we encountered and unknowingly activated?"

At the word _artifact_, the Jacksons' dialogue ended; they exchanged looks. There had been ruins. That was why the team had been sent in the first place, to look for writings, hints, big ass monster weapons with instruction manuals lain out beside them. "A lot of writing," both of them said.

"No energy readings from the ruins themselves, though," Samantha noted.

"There are," Dani said over her mug, "a few other things that make us pretty certain of the alternative reality theory. I mean, we have been captured by Goa'uld before, with the re-creation of the SGC as a means to extract information from us."

"Don't forget the _comtraya_ guy," Jacqueline tossed out.

An irritated flicker. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"I will extract every drop of bitter juice from that lemon, thank you."

"The fact is, sir," Samuel made eye contact with the general, "there are a few differences that we've picked up on. For one, the United States Flag, where we come from, has fifty-three stars."

At the questioning look from Daniel, Danielle explained, "Washington D.C., Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands."

"And the watch your Colonel O'Neill is wearing," Samuel went on. "Even if the Goa'uld didn't understand Grell technology, they would have at least done a mock-up for your colonel to wear to make it look convincing. They had a lot better eye for detail than to make simple mistakes like that."

"You know I'm all about the optimism," Jack said. "So you'll excuse me if I point out the obvious here."

"Yeah?" his opposite lifted eyebrows.

"I've seen my share of alternative lifestyles—"

"Realities, sir," his Carter corrected.

"Whatever. The point is, I've never met you guys. And by guys, I mean, is there a Miss Teal'c?"

Slowly, his opposite said, "No."

"Where is your big bundle o' joy, by the way?"

"Oh, you know how he is. Probably checking off names in his little black book."

"Because that's what he's all about."

Hammond had to give her this: Jacqueline could give the obtuse O'Neill smile with the best of them. He had to wonder if Jack was enjoying being the recipient of it, for once. "We don't mean to ask for classified information, Colonel."

"Oh, yes he did," she said without rancor. "But that's okay, sir. I'm sure the Doctors Jackson just spilled enough state secrets to curdle my blood. I'm just glad it was in a language I didn't understand so I don't have to shoot anybody."

"I love you, too, Jack," Dani shot back.

"It is very difficult to fake experienced Abydonian," Daniel told the general.

"What I'm worried about," the redhead said, "is the pair of ducks."

Two Carters automatically corrected, "Paradox."

"Yeah, that thing."

Both Carters nodded with, "Entropic cascade failure." Samantha added, "In our experience, it occurs within about forty-eight hours."

The redhead raked fingers through her short hair, unknowingly creating tufts that stuck up in different directions. "Any ideas on how to reverse the problem?"

"It depends," Samuel replied, "on whether or not we can figure out what caused it in the first place."

"Do you have your sensor data from the planet?" Samantha asked.

She knew the answer to that as well as Samuel did, but he said it anyway. "Most of that was recorded and already transmitted to SGC from the MALP. I think, however, because I supervised its collection, if I could get a look at your data, I may be able to spot discrepancies. From that, I may get some idea of the physics involved."

"General," Jacqueline said, "I think we need your help."

Hammond exchanged looks with his 2IC. Were they completely convinced that their visitors were from an alternate reality? No. Men in their position couldn't afford to let go of that small kernel of doubt, the one that kept them on their toes in case they were completely wrong. But there was a point when the evidence was enough that he could act on the obvious. Hammond answered, "I understand what you're saying, Colonel." He looked at his astrophysicist. "Is there anything in that data that could be an issue, Major?"

_Was there anything_, every officer in the room translated internally, _that someone could use to harm the SGC?_

Samantha mentally ran through measurements and the types of information they gathered. Honestly, "I'm not sure, sir. But I don't think so."

"Take their Major Carter down to your lab. Go over the data first," he instructed her. "If you deem it safe to share, Major, then by all means, you and our visiting Major can compare notes."

At his own colonel's nod of permission, Samuel said to the general, "Thank you, sir."

He fell in step beside Samantha, a pair of MPs behind. At Jack's nod, Teal'c followed.

Dani said, "I know which journal is mine."

Daniel looked down at the items in question, looked back at her, obviously bewildered. "How?"

"It's obvious, really," she set her mug down. "Given a little more time, and some tools other than trying to eyeball it, you would have figured it out. I've lived with it all my life, so it's no surprise I should think of it." She held up a hand, palm toward him.

He hesitated, then realized she meant for him to do the same. Lining up the heels, it was obvious his hand was much larger than hers. Not sure of her point, he pointed out, "Our journals are the same size."

"Yes." Cheeks dimpled. She took her hand away and stood both books, spines side by side, toward him.

Realization spread, and with it, how own slow smile. It was subtle, really, that darkened place where oil and sweat from their palms had smoothed the leather. Looked at apart, he doubted he could have told the difference in the size of smudges. But together, he could see where his hand had worn the leather in a slightly larger area. Not much larger, but enough that knowing what he was looking for, he could see it. He took the journal nearest himself and handed it to her. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Thank you, Dr. Jackson."

Jacqueline O'Neill looked at her counterpart. "Well, isn't that special."

"Jack," Dani folded the journal to her side, "are you going to shoot me if we visit? Because, really, I'd like to compare a few notes here with Dr. Jackson. We've obviously had a few different experiences, and I think we could benefit with a little shared knowledge."

_Obviously? _ Both O'Neills wondered just how much information the pair had traded in such a short time.

"Oh," Daniel's mouth opened, and he looked to his own colonel. "That would be great. She's encountered a Babylonian derivative with a verb form I haven't heard before, and I think I have a—"

"Gah!" Jack held up a hand before things got out of hand. "TMI! TMI!"

Jacqueline could have nixed the whole idea right then. But Babylonian derivative verb forms didn't sound like court martial material. She toed a chair from the table and sat, stretching out legs and crossing ankles. "Could I stop you?"

Over the rim of her mug, Danielle answered, "Not really."

"It was a rhetorical question. You could pretend my opinion mattered, for my sake."

Long legs, Jack noted. This stranger with his name had longer legs than his own. But she didn't slouch as well. No one was as slouchy as he was, and he sat down to prove it.

"Could we," Daniel appealed to the general, "go down to my office?"

Hammond didn't have any illusions about controlling his archaeologist, either. As the visiting colonel had previously pointed out, the doctors could have exchanged a wealth of information and it would take base translators hours, maybe days, with the security tape to determine exactly what had been said already. He hesitated at that point only because his people were being paired off. And yet, hadn't the visiting colonel resisted just that yesterday? Tests had proven these people were not trinium laden time bombs. If they were here to take out his people, they would have to do it by hand. And despite his enthusiasm, Dr. Jackson was not completely naive. Besides, the general suspected in just a few hours together, either Daniel would see the visitor for a fraud, or the pair could benefit each other immensely. The potential benefit outweighed the risk ratio. He nodded at Dr. Jackson.

"Oh, thank you, sir."

"Just for the record," Jacqueline said to Jack as the Jacksons departed, "I have no desire to see your office."

"Me neither," Jack agreed.

Hammond thought to himself that wasn't news to anyone.

"Jack one, Jack two," Jack grumbled. "Jackson one, Jackson two. Too damned many Jacks around here for me."

"That your real name?" Jacqueline wondered.

"It's Jonathan," O'Neill admitted.

A teasing glimmer in those familiar brown eyes. "So, Jack is really more my name than yours."

"We are _so_ not going there. I claim seniority."

She opened hands. "Your reality, man. For the sake of confusion, you can call me J.C."

"J.C.?"

"As in," her voice switched to an imitation of a familiar Texas drawl, "_Jaysus Christ, O'Neill, what have you done this time?_"

Jack's lips twitched. He had inspired a similar quote on numerous occasions, although not yet from the general. Still, he could imagine it. "J.C.," he acknowledged.

Hammond covered his mouth with a hand before the smile working the edges gave him away. How many times had he thought just that? He had to wonder at his implied counterpart that he had been inspired to let the thought slip.

"So," Jack drew the word out. "What are we going to do?"

Jacqueline lifted eyebrows. "We?"

"Everyone else is off doing stuff."

"What do you want to do?"

"We could compare planets we've been to, you know, just to make sure we really have been the same places."

"Because you'd do that in my place."

"Yeah."

"Riiiight."

"Worth a try."

"I imagine you'll get more than you want from the Jacksons."

"But will it be _useful_?"

"Okay. I'll give you this one." She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Have you met the Grell?"

Hammond sobered. "Your Major Carter mentioned them."

"They're traders. A little tough to find."

"Why?"

"They're nomadic, don't have a home planet. The best I can give you is methods for making contact. Dani can give your Jackson particulars on communication."

"Why would we want to find them?" Jack wondered.

"Need to restock zat guns? Want control crystals for a teltak? Looking for some Jaffa pajamas so you can infiltrate the nearest slumber party?"

Jack lifted eyebrows.

"The Grell play to all sides," J.C. went on. "If they can scavenge it for you, trade someone else for it, find it laying around somewhere you can't go, they'll sell it—that is, for the right price. Their prices can get pretty steep. They like trinium and naquadah as much as we do. I recommend sticking to renewable resources we're not competing for. Stress the rarity of a crate of oranges, give 'em a couple boxes of Swiss army knives. You'll figure that part out."

They'd figure it out, Hammond guessed, because her people had figured it out. If she wasn't just blowing smoke. "I wouldn't think they would have a timepiece that runs on Earth time."

"Ah," she waggled a finger. "But they do. Have someone bring mine here, and I'll show you just what makes it so cool."

There had been nothing in the review of visitor's equipment that was disguised explosive or biological weapons. The general nodded at one of the marines. In short order, the marine returned with the item.

Hammond looked it over, but the face was blank. Aside from the alloy and minor style differences, it didn't look much different than an average watch. He handed it off to his guest.

She clipped it to her wrist and the display came to life. Turning the watch face so he could see it, she said, "See the background?" Like a computer screen's wallpaper, in the background was the familiar A with the circle at its peak for Earth. "It displays our point of origin. Out there, in space, it displays the point of origin for the planet you're on."

Both Hammond, and then Jack, squinted at the other featured digits. Except for the symbols on the bottom, the watch was a pretty standard timekeeping display. "What's that?"

"Coordinates. Galactic coordinates in relation to Earth. Even without a gate or MALP calculations, we always know where we are."

"Could come in handy," Jack noted, not without a small spike of envy.

"Damn skippy. Helps our allies find us. You know, when we're misplaced."

Being lost was bad, Jack silently agreed. Being lost and not being able to tell your allies where to come get your butt was worse.

"Then there's the whole, 'what year is it?' function."

Jack lifted eyebrows. "Year?"

"Carter can give you the mumbo jumbo, but basically it communicates through subspace, makes contact with the Grell home world, confirms location, date and time. It's set to automatically correct for Earth data."

"Get lost in time a lot?" Jack wondered.

"Amazingly enough, it pays to be prepared."

Both O'Neills said together, "Nineteen sixty-nine."

_Yes_, Jack silently agreed. _It pays to be prepared for damn near anything_.

"That's just about it: a really cool watch." She asked the general, "Can I keep this, or you want to put it back in lockdown?"

He held out his hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like my people to take a look at it."

She passed it back. "Just, they're a little hard to come by. I'd like to take it home with me. Not in pieces."

"Of course," Hammond said. Which they both knew was really _maybe._ Still, he wasn't a thief, and at this point, her people still had the veneer of _guests. _Potential allies. If his team were stuck in an alternative reality, he would appreciate efforts made to get them home. Besides, the more he thought about the possibility of the Grell, the more he realized what a valuable resource even this one tidbit of intelligence was. Just how generous she was being. If, he reminded himself, the Grell existed in his reality at all. "Colonel," he nodded at Jack, "I'll leave you two to write down the details."

"Sir," the O'Neills said together.

Hammond departed, handing off the curious watch to a marine with the instructions to get it down to R&D. In the meantime, he set off to check on the other members of SG-1.

Part 2. The Carters Double Down.

On their way down to the major's lab, Samantha succumbed to curiosity. "Do you have family?"

"A brother," Samuel replied, "a father. You?"

"Yeah. Got Selmak?"

"Oh yeah. Jolinar and Martouf, too. Which was a little too weird, the whole man-crush thing going on."

"Martouf is a man in your reality?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Did you feel—?"

"I did mention the overall sense of weirdness, right?"

Sam grinned as she activated the row of computers in her lab. Martouf himself had been easy enough on the eyes in the first place; she had only hesitated to pursue him when she realized the urges were not completely her own. She could only imagine how it might have felt if Martouf had been a woman instead. That would have been . . . weird.

Sam pulled up short when she realized the visitor was already typing at the password prompt.

He saw the look on her face, straightened. "Um, sorry. Habit. It's just that, this feels pretty much like my lab."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"I'll use this." Samuel picked up a pad of paper. "I've got to get some notes down anyway."

She opened a hand. "Log on. I'm curious to see if we think that much alike."

Samuel complied. "Apparently we do," he finished as the system granted him access.

They both looked a little spooked. Samantha swallowed. "My lab is just like yours?"

He took a second look. "Well, there are a few odds and ends, some things I picked up that I don't see here, and a couple items you've got lying around. I keep a picture of Dad here." He touched an empty space on the wall. That particular space was also cluttered with family photos, finger paintings, crayon portraits, hand-made Father's Day cards. But, if this major was ordered to be cautious with the planetary data she had collected, well, Samuel wasn't inclined to volunteer that he had other family, to name names most precious to him or let slip anything an enemy could hold over him. Just in case his fifty star flag theory was wrong. "And our, uh, naquadah generator," he gestured to the prototype in the corner, "looks just a little different."

He knew enough to recognize her most recent generation for what it was, at least. Intrigued, "Different how?"

"I don't think we really have time or clearance to pull up the schematics."

"No, I suppose not." In fact, they should stick to what the general had authorized. Samantha started pulling up the secure data download from the MALP, diverting it to different screens as multiple charts of information popped up.

In the meantime, Samuel scratched out some notes, value ranges as he remembered them. His personal shorthand was, not surprisingly, exactly the same as Sam's, so she had no trouble understanding it; they took turns comparing to different screens.

Within an hour, Samuel knew it wasn't going to be enough. Everything was falling within his guessed ranges. While neither of them said it, they both knew wormhole physics were an exacting science; the detail needed might be in a decimal point. He finally leaned back and shook his head. "I don't have accurate enough information."

Samantha was more than a little relieved he could admit it. "We're not done yet."

"I was hoping something would leap out and say, _'Look at me, I'm an alternate atomic weight.'_"

"Wouldn't it be nice if all our data came with that kind of label?"

He gave her a grin, one that immediately reminded Sam of one of her father's smiles. This stranger, she realized, had the familiar oval face of Jacob Carter. She could see the hint of how his face would line with age, deepening the similarity. And that hair was thinning. Unlike Mark, Samuel had obviously inherited Jacob's male pattern baldness. Returning the smile, Sam realized he was watching her with a similar intensity. Was he comparing her to her mother? Had his Elizabeth Carter also lost a long, painful battle against cancer? Had his father been there for her, or had his Jacob Carter also been an absentee for all their critical family moments?

The inappropriately private questions died unasked. Both Carters cleared throats, turning back to the task at hand.

They kept looking, checking, double checking, hoping that they had simply missed something on the first go around.

"There's nothing here." Samantha Carter finally pushed herself away from the desk. "Nothing useable, anyway."

"We should go back to the planet," Samuel said. "There may be some device we didn't notice, maybe even something done differently on one side to bring us over."

Keeping in mind Hammond's warning, Sam had to wonder what risk there might be, any reason he might not approve of letting them go. Yet, she agreed. "If we're going to be any help at all, that's the next logical step."

Hammond checked on the majors from the cameras in the security room, then headed down to Dr. Jackson's office to see how the archaeologists were doing. The pair, in all their earnest, _we're peaceful explorers _method of talking to each other, covered a lot of territory at their Jackson-speak speed in a way that quickly lost anyone viewing the security feed. However, Hammond arrived in time to overhear a similarly brief discussion on their personal lives, which anyone understood clearly enough.

"You were married on Abydos?" the woman asked.

That hurt was still quick to line Daniel's face. "To Shau'ri. You?"

"Yes. To Fa'hran."

Mirroring Dani's sad smile, Daniel remembered the man. Kasuf would have described him as _'hearty and clean of limb.'_ Even though he knew already, even though he remembered clearly what had happened to Fa'hran in the counterattack against Apophis, Daniel asked, "What happened?"

"When we resisted Apophis, my husband and son were killed."

_A son._ Oh, that was very different. Daniel had spent barely a year with his wife, barely had time to get to know her. And this woman had met, married, and had a baby. He could only imagine what it felt like to bring someone so small and fragile into the world only to lose them to violence. "I'm sorry," he said inadequately.

Danielle placed her hand on his. "I'm sorry for your wife, Daniel. You don't look like it ended happily ever after for you, either."

"Apophis took her for his Goa'ould queen."

"She's still out there?"

He swallowed, that warm, gentle hand resting on his causing words to back up in his throat.

She supplied, "You're hoping the Tok'ra can remove Ahmonet?"

He shouldn't be surprised that she knew the Goa'ould's name. Nothing, at this point, should have surprised him. "Yes."

He said it so firmly, as if by deciding it, his will could make it so. Eternal optimism. It had been so long since Dani had felt that kind of faith. "Oh, I wish there was something I could give that would help you."

Daniel had to clear his throat. "Thank you."

That brief exchange finally, truly began to convince the general that the strangers were exactly what they said they were. It just didn't make sense to Hammond that imposters simply would have such obvious differences, be so very much the same, and yet so very much not. He strode back up toward the briefing room, weighing options, anticipating what the Carters were going to come up with, and whether he would consent to it.

The O'Neills were still giving Walter writer's cramp when the Carters finally came upstairs with their request to return to the planet. It was an easy decision to make. "Colonels," he told the two O'Neills, "you have a go. Get your people together."

"Uh, General," Jacqueline glanced at the marine escort, "would it be okay for us to have our stuff back?"

"Captain," he told Reynolds, "return their equipment."

"Yes sir." The marine wasn't surprised that J.C. trailed after him down to the lockup. They would get their weapons from the Sergeant at Arms right before embarking like everyone else, but the rest of their gear they could have, including freshly laundered clothes that wouldn't dwarf their archaeologist.

Fifteen minutes later, accompanied by a marine escort, Jacqueline O'Neill poked her head into Dr. Jackson's office. "Gear up, campers. Carter needs a field trip."

Daniel looked up from their notes, blinked to change focus. "Back to the planet?"

"Yep."

"Do I have to go?" Dani asked. Then, realizing how whiney that had sounded, she explained, "We were, uh, just getting started here."

"Let's see." The colonel ticked points off on her fingers. "Carter finds a way home, dinks around with the gate, and we take a moment to shut it all down and come back for you. Um, the answer would be no."

"Killjoy."

"Your team's going with us," J.C. told Daniel.

It wouldn't be the best place to work, he thought, but if it took the Carters a few hours to figure things out, that would be a couple more hours to compare notes. Well worth putting his kit together, even taking a laptop.

"And," the colonel added, "don't think I haven't noticed that you've been up here the last four hours without anything to eat. After you get changed, stop by the commissary on the way and get something hot."

"All right, all right," Dani promised, waving her team leader away.

The two Jacksons bent back to their work. It was only moments later before Jack's voice interrupted. "Gear up, campers. Carter—"

"Um, we know," Daniel cut him off. "Needs a field trip. And we'll get something hot to eat on our way down to gear up."

Jack shut his mouth, looked from side to side suspiciously. "Well. Good. You got ten minutes."

As he folded up his laptop, Daniel told Dani, "That could really get on my nerves."

There was a tense moment in the gate room as Siler returned weapons to the visitors. If they were going to cut loose and mow down everyone in an attempt to take the SGC, Jack knew it would be there. In fact, his heart jump-started his heart a little when Jacqueline took Dani's Beretta from its holster, but the colonel didn't point it anywhere except the floor as she ejected the clip, looked over the loads, and checked the safety, returning it to Jackson with deliberately slow, smooth gestures. Aware of the home team's scrutiny, letting them know that she meant nothing more than a pre-journey weapons check.

"Really, Jack," Dani protested, "I think I can see if a weapon's loaded or not by now."

Daniel looked curiously at his own Jack. "You don't do that for me."

Jack shrugged. "You didn't just spend the night as guests of a strange SGC. I doubt you'd recognize blank loads from the real thing, Daniel."

Daniel echoed his counterpart's, "Oh."

J.C. said nothing, acknowledging Jack's recognition with a tilt of her head as she and her Carter checked the loads on their own P-90s.

The wormhole activated, whooshing into place. They waited for Harriman to reactivate the MALP sensors, declare the area clear, and then Jack adjusted his hat. "Okay kids, let's get this show on the road."

Teal'c stepped through the gate first, having a moment to scan the area and note the planet was pretty much as they had left it. Sunny, mild weather. Lots of evergreens and underbrush, plenty of cover for an ambush. But there was no ambush. A plentiful variety of avian life flicked from tree to tree, moving away in a pattern that indicated they had been disturbed by the stargate, but there was no one in the edge of the trees waiting with staff weapons at the ready.

Or, if there were, those lying in ambush had been there long enough and were still enough to blend with the environment.

As the tracks around the gate indicated no other arrivals since their presence the previous day, Teal'c was inclined to believe the forest was as devoid of humanoids as it had been during his original sweeps. "Shall I scout the tree line, O'Neill?"

"Go ahead, buddy," Jack told him. The colonel squinted skyward, checking the weather, measured the local time by his shadow. They were getting started later in the day than on their first trip, but the ruins that had brought them in to look around were only three clicks due east.

"Carter," J.C. started, out of habit, to give orders. Realizing the other O'Neill had started to say the same thing, she cut herself off. At his pause, she opened a hand.

Jack sucked air through his teeth. This could get more than a little irritating. A little more formally than usual, "Major Carter, what's the plan?"

His Carter answered, "Sir, I suggest we start by recreating as closely as possible exactly what we did last time. Major Carter can retake readings while I poll the stored data from the MALP to compare."

"Okay. Let's do it, people."

Except for the Carters, it didn't take long for the rest of them to walk through what they had done on their previous arrival, two teams of SG-1 going over eerily identical actions. Teal'c was back by the time they had done their preliminary walk-through. He watched Daniel Jackson pausing to take a drink, swipe a hand across his brow, push up his glasses. And there was Danielle Jackson, absently doing the same thing, perhaps slightly before, or slightly after Daniel. Both adjusting gear or clothing, starting to speak at the same time, finishing each others' sentences, grinning at the double-speak. He observed enough doubling to make him not wish to watch strangers so disturbingly familiar much longer. He turned away, taking up his guard position as he had before, where he could watch the placid tree line instead.

"All right then," Jack said, "we'll head out for the ruins. Teal'c, you stay with the Carters, maintain a perimeter." Which was more or less what he had done before. "Major, keep us informed."

"Yes, sir," Samantha answered absently.

"It's just as well to get a second look," both Jacksons started to say. They laughed, shook their heads.

"Let me guess," Jack muttered, "there was some prime piece of rock you want a second look at."

"Camera work," Daniel said, patting his filming equipment, "isn't everything."

"Can't get rubbings off a DVD," Dani agreed.

"J.C.," Jack told his counterpart, "why don't you take point." He had taken point the first time, but it was easier to keep an eye on her from the rear. Just out of habit.

J.C. nodded at the request that wasn't a suggestion. She adjusted her P-90, eyes on the ground until she found signs of the trail they had forged through the dense undergrowth the day before. Retracing steps meant if not exactly walking in their own tracks, at least following them, looking for signs of anything that could have been disturbed or overlooked. They had been cautious on their way out the first time, anyway, alert for signs of hostiles.

Dani was smaller, legs shorter than any of her companions, but she definitely made up for it with that Jackson energy Jack knew so well. She took almost two strides to his one without complaint or lagging behind. He had to admit, she was kind of cute, in a compact bunny rabbit kind of way. At least, she might be if she ever shut up. Old Danny boy finally met someone who could keep up with him, in whatever language, and that was all they did the entire hike, blah-blah-Goa'ould this, blah-blah-Aztec that, blah-blah-blah something in some obscure language. Jack might have thought his headache was from the paradox getting to him if he hadn't known better, so he wasn't too worried when he saw his counterpart pause to pop aspirin. In fact, he thought, reaching for his own, that was a damn good idea.

At the ruins, the two O'Neills took all of two minutes to retrace their own steps from the watchful perimeter they had strolled before. The Jacksons took much longer to review, moving among the crumbly remains, reiterating and remembering details as only PhDs could. There were few stones with visible writings to film, and they were quite thorough in recreating their previous visit.

Which turned up what the two colonels found: exactly nothing. When the two Jacksons finally took a water break, Jack keyed his radio and checked in with his Sam.

"Nothing yet, sir," she reported. "It took almost six hours to do the previous survey, so it's still a little early."

"I understand," Jack returned. "Time to check in with SGC, let 'em know we'll re-contact in six hours." The Jacksons were practically frothing at the mouth for a second look around anyway. And he didn't really see any reason not to let them. Going back to hover around the major would be about as helpful as hovering around out here. "We'll stay out here unless you need us." _Please, need us, find something, anything to rescue us from hour after hour of watching archaeologists at work. _ "I'll check back with you in an hour."

"Understood, sir. Carter out."

"Thanks, Jack," Daniel told him. "I don't often get enough rubbings, and sometimes that's the only way to find anything."

O'Neill bowed. "I live to serve."

Without needing to discuss it, he and the other O'Neill automatically took up complimentary positions for a two man perimeter, settling in to walk their watch. Waiting, refreshing sunscreen, drinking measured portions from canteens, unwrapping a couple power bars, taking turns to go water the bushes. Time ticked by. Every hour, Jack checked in with the Major. Every hour, nothing.

"How you feelin'?" Jack asked at one point, when their steps took the colonels close enough for conversation.

J.C. shook her head, knowing just as well as he did what time it was, and what he was asking. "I don't hear any quacking."

Jack checked his watch, which, he had to admit, wasn't nearly as cool as hers. They were coming up on the forty hour mark since her team had stepped out of the gate at SGC. Forty hours and nothing. Nothing from ducks was good, but nothing from the major wasn't. "Carter won't quit."

"No." A puff of air. "Not until we get home." _Or_, she didn't have to say, _pulled apart_.

"Maybe we should head back. There are some good science guys back on base. One of them might have come up with something by now."

"Hammond would have contacted us. Besides." J.C. sighed, pointed with her chin. "Look at them."

His eyes followed the gesture to where the Jacksons were comparing notes again.

Daniel was saying, "The transcription could mean a real, physical blood sacrifice."

"It's very specific," Dani countered. "In this passage, the leaves are a particular shade of red, an ochre-like coloring."

"Yes, that's a nice passage: _'ochre leaves sigh,'_" Daniel agreed, pointing. "And _'indigo water shines bright with spears of sunlight'._"

"I find it difficult to believe that someone inscribing such a poetical passage would omit gory details of someone's heart being ripped out. If," Dani added, pushing up her glasses, "they had the opportunity to describe it."

"You're thinking the sacrifice was more symbolic? More like the tribes of Native North Americans who counted coup instead of actually killing their enemy?"

Dani nodded, grinning when Daniel concurred, flipping to another page.

"Please," Jack muttered, "don't tell me they reproduce."

A snort from J.C. "You know," she kicked at a clod of dirt, "if the Stargate program were public, they'd be heads of some department at a big university. Graduate students and research assistants out the yin-yang, public acclaim, all that."

"Big salaries. Publishing papers under their real names, respected, recognized as premier in their fields."

"And yet, here they are, up to their elbows in dust, happy as clams."

"Yeah, that's what I like about him: he doesn't give a rat's ass."

A grin. "You tell me: if you were in my reality, and your Jackson only had a few hours left, would you take him back to the SGC? Or would you rather be out here, buying him a little time on one of those rare occasions he is actually with a peer?"

Not much to say after that. Not much to say at all.

The next couple times he checked in with Carter, Jack could hear the frustration rising in her voice.

He didn't call it, though, until the sun was angled low on the horizon. He exchanged glances with J.C., wordlessly concurring; there was nothing they were going to find in the dark they hadn't found in the day. "Jackson," he said, "time to pack it in." He was somewhat shocked that he only had to say it once more before his boy actually closed the laptop and tucked it away in a pack.

On their hike back, they could hear the gate being dialed. Dialed, locked, whooshed on. Pause, whoosh off. Redial. "Major?" Jack prompted his astrophysicist.

"We've been testing the gate, sir," Samantha told him. "The last hour, dialing and redialing, to see if this particular gate has some kind of glitch."

"Anything?"

She shook her head. "No signs of a red shift." Swallowed. She had never been so completely and utterly without ideas. Perhaps if they had more time, or even the Quantum Mirror. But they didn't. They didn't have anything except the hint of red her counterpart may or may not have seen.

"We've been stranded almost two days," Samuel sighed. "Anyone notice anything?"

"No," Danielle replied.

"_Nada_," J.C. agreed.

"I don't get it," Samantha Carter said. "You're all overdue for at least some kind of side effect."

Samuel speculated, "Maybe the x-factor, y-factor gives us some kind of insulation from each other."

Tentatively, obviously weighing the idea, Samantha replied, "Maybe it's enough."

"It was the difference of an entire sperm. Maybe that's enough that we don't even exist in your reality. Not really."

"Dr. Frasier was pretty clear," Daniel disagreed. "Genetically identical, medically almost so. Even fingerprints are the same, and that doesn't even happen in twins."

"It's not the same," Dani argued, looking up at him. "We don't even look anything alike, not even as close as normal twins."

And yet, the two Carters were thinking, glancing at each other, there were remarkable similarities._ My mole, for one, _both of them thought.

"Our realities are somewhat different," Daniel admitted.

"We didn't marry the same people," Dani pressed. "We had different kinds of families, even did some different things."

"We're finishing each other's sentences," Samantha said. "How alike is that?"

"Are we?" Samuel wondered. "Or is it that there's just some odd point in time and space that we overlapped so closely, behavior becomes, at those particular moments, predictable? Maybe that's why we got kicked here."

"You think our realities were so far apart, that they might have come around to the same point from different directions?"

"That the gate malfunctioned and posited us in the closest thing to our reality it could find?"

Jack fished in his pocket for his aspirin. J.C. silently handed him a tab of hers.

"I guess," Dani admitted, "we're going to be around long enough to find out."

J.C. waved a hand at their gear. "Pack it up."

The Carters exchanged glances, faces mirroring determination. Together, "Maybe we could—"

"No. You've done that already. You guys got nothing. At least here."

True. Although, Samuel thought, if there was an answer, it was going to be here. Between here and Earth was the crossover point, and this was where he had seen the red-shift.

"Maybe there's something we just don't have the tools here to measure," Samantha suggested to him.

Samuel nodded. Together, they started, "Maybe back at the lab—"

"Not tonight," J.C. cut them off. "You've been at it all day. Both of you. Working with a tired mind isn't going to solve the problem. We're hitting the showers."

"Dial us home, Danny boy," Jack ordered.

It didn't take much, back at SGC, for Jack to explain to the general what had happened. "I'm sorry," Hammond told the visiting CO.

J.C. sighed. "I'm sure we could be consoled with a nice O'Malley's dinner."

"O'Malley's?"

"Well, if you have one. Seeing as it might be our last night in existence."

Jack's stomach grumbled softly. It had been an extremely long day, and steak at O'Malley's sounded most excellent.

J.C. added, "On O'Neill."

"What?!"

J.C. clapped Jack's shoulder. "Now, you know I'd pay, but I left my American Express at home. Besides, it would have your number on it anyway."

Hammond felt some satisfaction at Jack's _wait a minute_ expression. This other O'Neill could grow on him. "For security reasons, I'm sure you understand you can't leave the base. But I'm sure Colonel O'Neill here will be glad to bring us all back some take out."

Jack lifted eyebrows. "I would?"

Hammond himself wasn't leaving base that night, either. Pointedly, "I like my steak well done."

There was only one thing to say when the general made you his delivery boy. "I'll have the expense forms on your desk in the morning, sir."

"Good man."

J.C. lingered, waiting for her team to hit the showers, and for Jack and Daniel to depart. "C'mon," she told Reynolds, her marine escort. A knock on the general's door. "Sir," she said when he bid them enter, "I'd like a word."

Hammond nodded Reynolds, gesturing for him to stand outside the door—with the door open. "Have a seat."

"If you wouldn't mind, sir," she nodded at his book case, "I'd like to see a copy of the United States Constitution."

Puzzled, he glanced at the slip covered copy he kept behind him, then handed it over.

"Thank you, sir." Jacqueline dropped down in the guest chair and slid the book into her palm. Squinted, held it at arm's length, drew it in closer, searching for a comfortable reading zone. Reading glasses were, annoyingly, left at home in her office.

"Is there something you're looking for?" Hammond asked.

"Yes, sir. It won't take long."

The general leaned back against his desk, deciding to wait it out.

At last, the visitor snapped the book shut, commenting, "Twelfth amendment a little early, nineteenth a little late. But close enough. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." He set the book on his desk, folding hands. "Although I have to admit, I have to wonder why you wanted to see it."

"I understand, General. Frankly, sir, this damn well looks like home. But there are differences. Small, subtle, but there nonetheless. Still, I think you and your people are as close to home as we can get without being there. In that light, sir, I feel as though I can reasonably make an offer."

"What did you have in mind?"

"There may be something more I can give you than just the Grell. And I may only have a few hours left. I'm willing to look over your list of planets, or list what I can remember, if you don't want to let me look—although the memory isn't what it used to be, I can tell you now—and see what's different. There may not be much, but if I can mark out some addresses you definitely don't want to visit, and point out any good ones you've missed, then I'm willing. That's just my suggestion, sir, and the extent of what I can do."

General Hammond didn't have to think about it twice. He tapped his intercom, summoning Harriman.

"I hope," she said, "I can be done and get a shower before Jack gets back and our dinner gets cold."

"You and me both."

It would be tomorrow before Jack found out about her generosity. At the moment, he was busy carrying out the covert dinner operation with Jackson, who knew exactly what to order and how much. "It's kind of interesting," Daniel admitted on the drive back.

"What is?" Jack asked.

"Seeing what I would have been like. You know, as a woman."

Irritated, "She's not me, Daniel."

"No?"

Even more irritated, "She's nothing like me."

Daniel laughed. At Jack's glance, he laughed even harder.

He'd never admit it, especially not to Daniel, but Jack was more than a little curious, too. What would it have been like? How did she pay for college, if not on a football scholarship? Or did women play football where she came from? That didn't quite jibe. Her and Sara together? That didn't jibe, either, and he wouldn't have thought of that aspect of it at all if he hadn't heard that conversation on the security recordings. _Thank you, Dani. _But his idle thoughts also turned to darker things, things he didn't care to think about. He knew how women were treated in Iraqi prison camps.

They arrived back at base with dinner enough for both SG teams so all seven could sit down in the isolation ward for a meal together. While Hammond left to enjoy his late meal in his office, the rest of them were subjected to the chatter of linguists discussing various adventures. Conversation quickly deteriorated into an obscure language edition of See Who Could Make the Worst Pun, which inspired even Teal'c to join in.

There were times when Jack envied Daniel's ability to relax and enjoy himself with the people they encountered. Like himself, he could see there was also a part of J.C. that kept a little distance from the camaraderie. Oh, she smiled quickly enough, laughing as the puns got nerdier and geekier. But still she held herself slightly apart, in a position that was subtly wary. Watching over her team. Jack could see that Jacqueline O'Neill was still very much aware that they were in a strange place with strange people.

40

That was okay, Jack thought, watching his friend interacting with her friend. Jackson could enjoy it enough for both of them.

40


	2. Chapter 2

Part 3. Holding.

No one was more surprised than J.C. that their first night passed uneventfully, no entropic cascade failure, no torturous sensation of anyone being pulled apart. Then another day passed. And, shockingly, another.

With the general's permission, the two Carters remained focused on the problem in Samantha's lab, working on base in tandem. This time, they pulled data from NASA, from NORAD, from other scientists on the base, from Area 51, sending requests to the Tok'ra and the Asgard; before it was all said and done, Hammond was pretty sure they might have even polled the psychic hotline.

Letting the Carters work together wasn't just generosity on the general's part. He learned quickly that whatever simulations the two ran or questions they asked, whatever challenges they threw at each other and others benefited his program. If nothing else, they made everyone around them _better_. Hell, in that first week, when the pair of them focused solely on the gate diagnostics, his teams identified 53 more safety parameters previously ignored by Carter's original dialing program, and had notes on what a half dozen others might be.

In the meantime, Dr. Jackson graciously accepted Danielle's further offer of help, and their time together was equally productive. While he double-checked everything she did, Danielle helped him get caught up on surveys from other science units, and they even got around to the backlog of consultation requests that were always clogging his in-boxes.

On the other hand, it took that entire first week for the two colonels to stop pacing around each other like twitchy predatory cats.

As it seemed she was not about to disappear, J.C. was willing to spend more time going over any discrepencies in their stargate travel history that she and Jack could find—which were precious few, and yet, as Hammond quickly discovered, pertinent. Their coordinated efforts took about four hours making notes before Jack handed off the responsibility of research to the appropriate people, and then they had little more to do between them.

Despite his reputation and his denial that he had an office, Colonel Jonathan O'Neill actually kept up with his paperwork. Of course, unlike Daniel and Carter, he wasn't off writing brilliant top secret papers, either. Once he and Hammond had caught up on personnel files, he had nothing better to do than review security recordings and, for lack of a better word, lurk.

He was not particularly good at idle lurking.

Neither, it was obvious, was J.C.

From the security records, Jack knew she spent a great deal of time pacing the hallway between her VIP quarters and Carter's lab or Jackson's office. It wasn't, he had to admit, as if she had anywhere else to go. He helped her out by suggesting that Hammond lift the edges of the visitors' confinement a little. Their guests couldn't leave base, and there were still restrictions on where they could wander even with their marine escort, but that innate O'Neill restlessness was relieved somewhat by being allowed to seek out the recreation rooms, the commissary, and even observe departures and arrivals from the briefing room level.

In some ways, Jack came to quickly regret the small kindness. Because he and his counterpart thought so much alike, they were often turning up in the same places around the same time of the day. Even more annoying, because she actually lived on base, he often found himself arriving somewhere _after_ she had already been there. And when he opened his mouth to share some particularly clever wit or observation with base personnel, he got the distinct impression that whomever he was talking to had already heard it.

It didn't help his mood that, whenever they actually crossed paths, whenever they opened their mouths, he and J.C. tended to say the exact same thing—at first, followed by the old quote, "bread and butter," or a playful, "Jinks!" In fact, it quickly became something of a competition to see who could pull out the most obscure, unlikely thing to say in an attempt not to be saying the same thing at the same time.

Unfortunately, that effort backfired. Somewhere between both of them quoting, "Luke, I am your father," and breaking out in the Oscar Meyer Weiner song, their own inability to think differently began to get on their nerves. So much so that, by the third morning, when they saw each other, they shut their mouths and reversed directions.

On one night's recording, Jack viewed J.C. express her growing frustration on a particularly vicious late night boxing match with the rec-room punching bag. Once again, he knew exactly what had to be going through her mind: that she had to take it out somewhere, and better to have sore shoulders and aching hands in the morning than inappropriately snipe at her team.

In fact, as he watched his counterpart work herself through a hard sweat, after she paced off her workout, when she finally lost it and threw the gloves in a bit of temper that he seldom let his own team see, venting his own private string of favorite expletives—twice, just for the satisfaction the second time around—he had to admit, he kind of liked her.

Even if she was a certifiable nut job.

Hell, he should know: he was a certifiable nut job.

The next morning, he found her down in Jackson's lab. She looked much more relaxed after last night's workout, although he suspected she was stiff as hell. He deliberately placed the chess box in front of her on the end of Daniel's desk.

He was rewarded with a reluctant O'Neill smile. She knew what he was up to, and, if she accepted the gesture grudgingly, it was only because she resented the fact that she needed the distraction at all.

And there was, Jack thought, something to be said for someone knowing you well enough not to have to ask. They could circumvent all those touchy feeling conversations and go straight to the comfortable silences.

He liked her even better when he saw the security film from the fifth night. After spending a few hours together companionably during the day, Jack felt more like a voyeur than ever as he turned up the volume to catch the soft spoken, heads down exchange that took place between J.C. and Samuel when they were alone in their quarters.

Samuel Carter's shoulders were taut with frustration. "There may not be a way home, ma'am."

"There, you're wrong, Carter," J.C. told him. "What can be done can be undone."

"I just—I can't see it."

"It may be that we just don't have the right tools."

"I don't even know what I'm looking for!"

"Look, Major, you're not the only one responsible for this. Our people have to be working on it from their end, too. If it happened to us, it could happen to anyone, and even this reality's Hammond isn't one to sit back and let something he knows about bite him in the butt. We just may need to step back from the problem for a little bit, let someone else tinker with it."

"Step back? For how long?"

"As long as we need to, Carter."

"Great. I could be home by the time my kids graduate from college."

_Kids?_ Jack had to reverse the recording and listen to that part again, just to be sure he hadn't misheard. J.C.'s Carter had kids. Plural. _That was different_.

"Hey." Jacqueline put a hand on Samuel's shoulder, gave a little shake. "What the hell was that?"

Warning, Jack thought, that the younger man was skating an uncharacteristic pity party.

Samuel grimaced, ducked his head.

No, Jack translated the embarrassed gesture, Samuel didn't indulge in such things any more than Samantha did. That single question had hit him more harshly than a slap in the face.

J.C. let the silence hang for just a moment. Then, "We have the two best minds in two realities working on this thing. It's going to happen. You will find out how to get the job done, even if you have to build the tools from the ground up to do it. Understood?"

An exhale. A nod. "Yes ma'am."

"You better, Major, because that's an order."

With more certainty, "Yes ma'am."

His own Carter, Jack knew, had been riddled with self doubt when he first met her. That was why she tended to over-explain things—not to baffle her superiors with bullshit, but because she respected their intelligence and expected them to understand and be able to follow how she arrived at a theory. As her self confidence grew, so did belief in her own ability to determine whether she could pull something off or not, and her need to get completely-informed consent from her CO had waned.

But as bright as she was, Major Samantha Carter tended to get answers quickly, too. From their stint in Antarctica, Jack knew how frustrated she could get if trapped somewhere and she couldn't come up with some functional answers quickly enough. They had been in tight spots with only a minimum of equipment for longer than this, but to be stuck somewhere with the very best equipment and the best minds to work with, and to keep coming up with zilch? Jack could only feel pride in his own team mate that she so often performed admirably under such screwy conditions.

As if hearing his thoughts, the recorded J.C. slapped Sam's shoulder and said, "At least no one has any broken bones this time, Carter. Hell, we're in a tropical paradise. Tomorrow, why don't you join me down on the beach?"

Samuel gave her one of those patented Carter looks, the one where the major was refraining from asking his CO if she were out of her mind. "Um, no thank you, ma'am. We've got some seismography coming in the morning I wanted to take a look at."

"If you change your mind, I'm sure it won't take long for Sergeant Siler to scare you up some Speedos."

"I'll . . . keep that in mind, ma'am."

It took another week before the Carters admitted they had run out of things to do or try. They tossed out the hypotheses that there could have been a supernova, or another wormhole crossing the other, or some other astronomical anomaly that they could neither measure nor reproduce even if they figured it out.

"Even if we find a way to override the safety protocols and induce a red-shift in the gate," Samuel explained to General Hammond, "the odds of being returned to our own reality are astronomical. We could just as easily be kicked off into a hundred, or a thousand others."

Samantha agreed. "We need a way to test and control the results."

"Understood Majors," Hammond said. "Thank you for keeping me appraised."

Hammond also understood from Dr. Frasier that, even after a week, none of the three visitors were exhibiting any symptoms of paradox. The two astrophysicists and Frasier had presented him with their x-y factor hypothesis, that the singular difference in gene was keeping the three from experiencing the paradox effect at all. Whether that was correct, or how long the difference would protect them, was anybody's guess.

"I got better things to do," J.C. had said when informed, "than sit around worrying about getting pulled around like some cosmic yo-yo. Who's up for some cake?"

"I like cake," Jack said, thus complimenting the skilled application of the consummate O'Neill tactic: Distract and Avoid.

Distract everyone from the real question: what were the stranded people going to do now?

Hammond summoned J.C. to his office to discuss it. "Looks like you and your people are going to be here a while, Colonel."

"Looks that way, sir. May I be a little bold, here, sir?"

"By all means."

"To be direct, sir, as we discussed before, this feels like home. I don't see any conflict in serving this SGC. In fact, I think it's in both our interests if you take operational command, sir."

Operational command: one of the oldest military traditions. It meant he could absorb her unit while recognizing its identity as an entity of a foreign government; as with other diplomatic units, he could, with the president's permission, recognize her rank as well as authorize support units.

Her suggestion, Hammond knew, was no short-term survival strategy. She couldn't let her people sit idle, and they both knew that if he didn't find a place for them, the paranoids in his government would remove them from the SGC entirely. Outside of Cheyenne Mountain, they were never going to get home.

The question he was going to have to answer on behalf of his superiors was, could he trust them? He and his 2IC still kept cameras on them and reviewed security records, but it had become a thing done more out of habit than out of the suspicion that J.C. and her people were secretly sabotaging the base at night. And he had certainly garnered far more information from the visiting O'Neill than she had asked him to give up. From the teams he had already sent to investigate her info, he was seeing some good results. Useful, including the location of a planet with a rich trinium vein. In some ways, J.C.'s info was more useful than he had gotten from allies in almost three years.

There had to be some point when he finally admitted it and went with his gut. And his gut—the same one that had told him that Teal'c would make a good addition to his program—was telling him that these people were exactly who and what they said they were.

And, as if he needed anything else to tip the scale in their favor, people with their abilities didn't just fall into his lap on a daily basis. While he had limited support resources and an almost unlimited pool of qualified applicants, you just couldn't beat field experience. In his opinion, simply giving them new names and relocating them in some kind of confidential witness protection program would have been a colossal waste. "That's a hell of an offer, Colonel."

"Well, Sammy isn't going to give up on finding a way home, and the best place for him to work is here."

True. In fact, they both knew, the Majors Carter had already started spending a little time working on other things. "When we were taking a break, sir," Samantha had quickly explained, as if the general had caught her with a hand in the cookie jar. Samuel had drawn up some plans for sensor modifications Samantha admitted she had only had time to think about. He'd also written a few research papers, unprompted, and without access to confidential files, that Samantha had not gotten around to finishing.

_Out of boredom, _the general realized. "That is one officer who was not used to sitting idle."

J.C. shook her head. "No, sir."

"And Dr. Jackson?" Who wasn't USAF, for whom the visiting colonel had limited right to make decisions.

"Oh, I'm sure Dani would be content to just live in Daniel Jackson's office. Maybe we could put a shoebox with a blanket under the desk for her."

Being familiar with Jack humor translated that for him. "They seem to get along quite well, don't they?"

"That's just the way they are, sir." _Lonely for a peer_, J.C. thought, although she scrunched her face and shoulders and said, "So civilized."

"I confess, I would be delighted to have a second consultant of her caliber."

"General," she mock scolded, "are you poaching talent from my team?"

"Of course."

"She'll be delighted. Please, feel free to take it up with her, sir. On one condition."

"What would that be?"

"If you send her off world, I go with her."

"I see," he said, not quite sure he did.

"I'm responsible for her, sir," J.C. explained. "I feel very strongly about that."

_Ah._ Now he really did see. Of course his own Jack felt a higher sense of responsibility toward their Jackson; the civilian didn't have the background and survival training the military members of his team had. "I appreciate your candor."

"Helping you helps us, sir."

"I'll let you know what I decide."

After she departed, Hammond sat at his desk and thought carefully about what he needed to do, and how it would be done. And then he picked up the red phone and waited for the man on the other end to answer. By the end of the day, he had what he wanted.

When Hammond summoned them up to the briefing room, at last he acknowledged J.C.'s rank. "Colonel, I have authorization to put you to work."

Although he knew none of them had discussed it between them, neither of her team members looked at all surprised.

In fact, Danielle slid a file across his desk. "That's a list of resources we could use. As they're a bit obscure, I've included the sources where I was able to find them back home."

If there was one thing Hammond had learned about their civilian consultant, it was that in some things, he was usually a half step ahead of everyone else. "Anything else you need, Doctor?"

"My own office," she was saying. "Adjacent to Dr. Jackson's, if you don't mind. I don't want to have to go far to consult with him."

"I'll see what I can do."

When told that she and her people were expected to recertify weapons proficiency by USAF standards, J.C. suggested, "Can't we just play paint ball? You know, like, me and my Carter verses your O'Neill and Carter? It'll be fun."

Jack perked, giving his CO a look to let him know he was up for it.

But the suggestion was nixed, almost as if Hammond anticipated the appeal it held for his own colonel. "No. At 0800 tomorrow morning, you'll be bussed over to the training facility where Colonel O'Neill will supervise your certifications."

Thinking of the fresh list of consultation requests in his in-box, Daniel said, "Guess that means the rest of us have a little time."

"They do," Jack nodded toward Teal'c and his Carter.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I can think of nothing needing my attention, Colonel O'Neill."

Jack ignored the comment. To Daniel, "You, on the other hand, will be joining our merry band of adventurers."

"Jack." _Do I have to?_

The O'Neill head tilt. "Daniel?" _Yes, yes you do._

Weakly, "Jack."

"Buck up, Danny boy. You and your evil twin can compete for the lowest passing scores."

Dani cast him a sympathetic look. "He makes you do it over and over until you pass, doesn't he?"

Daniel let out a long suffering sigh, thinking back to the last training session he had eked through.

The next morning, Jack picked up a thermos of USAF paint thinner from the coffee dispenser and got the kids on the bus. Samuel Carter looked a little rumpled and sleep deprived, but Jack suspected now that Hammond had granted him full access to the Carter lab, it would have proven too tempting not to burn a little midnight oil.

Daniel gave Dani a leather bound journal as they boarded. "I thought you might like to look at this."

Pleasantly surprised, she recognized, "Your notes on P3X-229." One of the interesting planets her team hadn't visited. "Thank you, Daniel. I wish I had something to loan you in return." All of her journals were, of course, back home.

"That's okay." He held up a binder. "I've got a few notes from SG-12's visit to P5Y-772 to catch up on."

"Oh, do share later. I was wondering how that was going."

Sixteen seats on the bus, J.C. thought, and the pair of them took the same one, scrunched together over their reading.

Not so with her and Jack. She was sitting as far from that man as she could. Of course, sitting in the back seat when he took the front was purely tactical habit. That, and it was too goddamn early in the morning to listen to her own thoughts come out of his mouth.

Jack had to take the binders out of the Jacksons' hands at the range.

Daniel gave a resigned sigh. He knew this was all necessary, that his carrying a weapon was vital to their survival, but he wasn't good at it. Not good like Jack or Sam. Yes, it was a matter of training and practice and he wasn't afraid of work. But there were few things that didn't come easily or naturally to Daniel Jackson, and this, he was afraid, was going to forever be one of them.

He exchanged a few reassuring smiles with Dani. Yes, she was as uncomfortable as he was. The least they could do for each other was provide moral support.

He thought he did okay, raising dust behind his paper target at least as many times as Dani did. It must have been good enough, because Jack didn't make him redo the handgun part this time. He could feel good about that, at least.

Nothing to compare to Samuel or J.C.'s tidy killing clusters on the fixed target range. Daniel's eyes were drawn to J.C.'s hands, the smooth gestures, her relaxed grip. She had big, certain hands, like Jack's, but, strangely, the hard metal weapon made hers look softer, more feminine, very different from the way the same device looked in his friend's. She was firing almost twice as fast as Daniel, but she made it look slower, unrushed, with that silent, practiced patience Jack exuded under fire.

Much different from Jack, and yet, in some ways, so very much the same.

"Good job, Danny boy," Jack told him when he finished up the urban assault course. "Turn in your gear and head back to the bus."

_Good job_. Daniel sighed in relief, collecting his things. He took back his binders and had time to dig into them before Dani showed up. "How'd you do?" he asked her.

"I don't think I embarrassed anyone," she said, taking the seat next to him when he made space. "Although there were a few wince-worthy moments."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. To you, too. I noticed you didn't have to do anything twice."

It was a little while before Carter joined them, stretching across the back seats to prop up his feet, draw cap down over his eyes, and fall asleep. Quite a while more before the two O'Neill's finally showed up and the bus took them back to base.

From the rumors that made the base rounds later that day, Daniel realized he should have paid a bit more attention to the time lag between Carter and the O'Neills' returns. This was one of those times when he missed the obvious simply by being a bit too engrossed in his work.

The next morning, Jacqueline O'Neill knocked on the door frame to General Hammond's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Colonel. Why don't you have a seat."

"Thank you, sir."

"I've been looking over the reports for you and your team from yesterday's exercises at the training facility. You may be happy to know that your team members passed." As had Daniel Jackson. In fact, both Jackson's had scored nearly identically. "You, on the other hand, flunked. Which is amazing to me, considering that your accuracy scores at the stationary range were at the top of the charts." He had to admit, hers were slightly better than his own O'Neill's. "Frankly, I'm at a loss here, Colonel, over your test results from the Urban Assault Course. Did you not take our little training exercises seriously?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"Perhaps you could explain this to me."

She leaned forward in the chair. "I'll do my best, sir."

Hammond could see from the marks she had started off well enough. On the first five pop ups, she passed over shooting the two friendlies, and hit hostile targets 1, 3, and 4. Not only that, but she did neat double taps, either to the head or chest regions. But, "On target 6, was it really necessary to unload forty rounds into a single standee?"

"Forty-two, sir," she corrected.

As if the exact count mattered. "What possessed you to do that, Colonel?"

"It was a Goa'uld, sir."

"What?"

"Apophis."

Hammond blinked.

J.C. held up a hand. "I know what you're thinking, General."

He couldn't imagine how she could.

"You can't penetrate one of their personal shields with bullets. But," she held up a finger, "maintaining a steady rate of fire was the only means I had at my disposal to distract him. If I had team mates to coordinate with, it would have given them the opportunity to flank and close on his blind side. Given that I was on my own, emptying the rest of my clip kept him focused on maintaining his shield so that I could get in close enough for my knife. In this case, the tactic seemed to have worked."

If by "worked" she meant she had been able to approach a paper target on foot, yes it had. Which explained why, after all that, she had pulled a knife and cut its tattered remains in half. A bullet shredded paper target, as much as one had remained. Time to point out the fallacy in that thinking. "While you were doing that," he said, "you let five more targets go unanswered."

"I considered Apophis the greater threat, sir. In addition, I kept him between me and his own people, giving me partial cover with his personal shield. At least until I finished him off."

A paper target giving her cover from other paper targets. Okay. "At which time you deemed it necessary to reload your magazine with armor piercing rounds?"

"No, sir. I reloaded with a standard magazine, sir, until target fifteen came up. When I saw it was Teal'c, that's when I switched to AP rounds."

"It didn't occur to you that target fifteen was a friendly, Colonel?"

"Oh, that was pretty tricky, I admit, to present a friendly face, but he was targeting me with an zat gun, sir. That isn't our T'ealc's weapon of choice, so I had to assume he had reverted. And why use a zat gun, unless he intended to try to take me alive? As Apophis' Prime, he was a far more serious threat than some thug off the street. I'm not so vain to think that one shot will take him down, or that he would leave cover unarmored, so I changed clips."

"Perhaps you could explain to me why armor piercing rounds were not enough for target twenty-one."

"That target was you, sir."

"Me."

"Yes, sir. That was when I knew that in this scenario, the entire Stargate Command was compromised, and that I needed to contain the situation immediately. As I had no access to a self-destruct function, I had to extemporize."

"So you used C-4 on my urban assault course."

"As the marines say, peace through superior firepower, sir."

Hammond's frown did not fade. It was just like O'Neill to get up to something cute. A destructive sort of cute. _Let's see how cute he thinks it is having to spend another afternoon at the training facility_. "Walter, get me Jack O'Neill!"

"Yes, sir," the sergeant called from his desk, "Colonel O'Neill is on his way, sir."

Obviously just waiting for the summons, Jack popped into the doorway. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Colonel," Hammond scowled at his officer, "I want you take our visitor back down to the UAC and retest. And this time," voice rising, "no armor piercing rounds, no goa'ould faces, and no C-4!"

Placing a file on top of the other, Jack noted, "It's on your desk, sir."

_So this was planned. _General Hammond scowled at the pair of them. _And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker._

Jack hesitated. "Anything else, sir?"

Hammond took a slow breath. "Dismissed." He was beginning to wonder if having two O'Neills around was a good idea.

The paintball incident pretty much proved it wasn't. In a lesser general, it might have taken a third such incident to convince him, but he wasn't the dimmest light bulb in the shed, not by a long shot. No, the final straw was the paintball game. On his base.

He had overheard most of the conversation, but he reviewed the security tapes later to fill in the rest.

"Good lord!" Dani exclaimed on the recording. "Who won?"

The Carters came out of the basketball court after their COs, the two majors sporting singular neat paint splots on their vests. "I think we did," Samantha replied.

"You're supposed to wait until we get in position," J.C. was telling Jack.

"You started it," he returned.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Not."

"Did."

J.C. lowered the muzzle of her paintball gun and shot him point blank. He returned the favor, adding yet more color to her equally brightly blotched BDUs.

"Aren't there rules for this game?" Daniel frowned at them, stepping back to keep his folder out of splatter range.

"I think they're supposed to go in one team at a time," Dani suggested. "Or go in separate doors, or something."

The Jacks blinked at each other through safety glasses. As one, they pointed paintball guns at the Jacksons, hitting each one square in the chest.

"Ow!" Daniel jumped. "Innocent bystanders, here!"

Dani held up hands. "Switzerland! Switzerland!"

Which was the point when General George Hammond had stepped around the corner. He had paused, looking from one paint splattered O'Neill to the other, then down at the colored droplets on his base floor. In one long, drawn out moment of silence, his face reddened. Then reddened some more. "Sergeant Harriman," he said, voice low and even.

"Sir!" Wise enough to know the general made a pretty good shield, Walter reluctantly stepped up to his elbow.

"Get these people out of my sight." Hammond glared at one Jack, then the other. "Better still, make arrangements to get them off my planet. Before I shoot them myself. With a real gun," he added as he stepped around the duo.

"Yes, sir." Harriman glanced from one to the other.

When the general was safely around the corner and out of sight, Dani noted, "I don't think you've managed to turn him that particular shade of red before."

J.C. pushed her safety glasses up and asked Jack, "Do you think the paintball was a little over the top?"

Jack wrinkled his nose, then shook his head. Together they said, "Nah."

54

"You," Dani said disdainfully, "are sinking to new depths of incorrigibility."

54


	3. Chapter 3

Part 4. Dinosaurs: 1, Jacks: 0.

Within hours after the paintball incident, both O'Neills were summoned to Hammond's office. That first sit down session, when there was still a bit of paint in both O'Neills' hair, Hammond only barely managed to keep a straight face. Yes, he was furious, but, by god, he still had a sense of humor. Even if he had to keep a lid on it. It would not do, not at all, to encourage the pair of them.

" I'm designating your team SG-101," the general told J.C., sliding patches across his desk. "I thought it would make you more comfortable to have familiar numbers."

"You're the best, sir," J.C. told him sincerely.

"I'm putting together SG-102 for your team's back up." If she was around long enough, and proved as resourceful for getting into trouble as his SG-1, she was going to need them. Often. "102 will be headed up by Major Friedman."

Major Frederiqa Friedman, aka, Freddy Mac. J.C. liked the marine, but it was a pain in the ass that she was going to have to earn the right to call the major by that nickname all over again. That particular respect had involved no small amount of whiskey and some brutal hand to hand sessions. "Mac and I will get along just fine, sir."

"I'm sure you will, Colonel." Hammond handed out the briefing schedule for both colonels. It was time to get his flagship team back in the field, and he intended to get the other out on some shakedown voyages ASAP. "Attempting contact with the Grell is your first priority. Before I forget," Hammond opened his desk drawer and slid the item across to her.

"Ah, my watch," J.C. said of her piece of technology. "Yes, we should get right on scoring a few of your own."

"I agree, Colonel."

Since he wanted at least one member of his own SG-1 with 101 if they found the nomadic traders, that meant working around other missions. Carter already had a project with SG-12 surveying the recently discovered trinium mine, so Daniel was assigned to accompany them, while Jack and Teal'c would take turns going with. With luck, finding the Grell wouldn't turn into a long term project.

The coming weeks, 101 would visit a planet every other day until all contact points were covered at least once. Hammond figured that first grueling week of different atmospheres, air pressures, weather patterns, environments, and medicals, would tell him what he needed to know of how 101 handled mission stress.

J.C.'s team proved experienced enough to handle the sheer volume of gate travel. And, by the next Tuesday, they had found two spots where the Grell had been recently, letting Daniel get his first good look at the type of markings they left.

"It's not a language, per se," Dani explained to him. "More like the code itinerant train travelers used to leave for each other under bridges when they passed through."

"Hobos," J.C. translated for Jack. "She means hobos. 'Bos, for short."

"Your people call it corn," Jack said. Together, the O'Neills finished, "My people call it maize."

"Like Jack-speak?" Daniel muttered.

"Yeah," Dani agreed. "Only it's meant to be understood."

Samuel's snigger was obscured by a little fit of coughing.

"You should get that checked out, Major," Jack said mildly.

"This," Dani traced one of the symbols, "is the point of origin for the planet they've moved on to. Ever seen it?"

Daniel shook his head. "Maybe Teal'c has." He flopped open his journal, set to copying down the mark. "At least we know they exist here."

"Yes, this is quite promising." Dani took out a big black marker and scrawled the point of origin for the planet Hammond had designated as a safe place to set up a meet, adding the squid-like symbol that resembled a Grell hand; the mark represented their desire for trade contact. With any luck, a Grell would see it soon, go there, and, if no one was there to meet them, leave an address similarly scrawled on a rock. One of the other SG teams was checking for messages twice a week, and would let them know if the Grell made contact that way.

On their return from the field that day, Sam found out his wife worked on base.

"Oh, crap," J.C. said when they walked into the infirmary.

Samuel pulled his eyes away from Nurse Ngyen and neutrally sat down on one of the beds.

"What?" Jack looked from one to the other.

J.C. rubbed the back of her neck. "We did mention that Sammy was married, right?"

Of course their marital status, among other things, had been on the paperwork they filled out for Hammond. Jack had found out Samuel wasn't a father just once, but twice, to two daughters. He looked around the busy infirmary. "I take it you didn't expect to see your wife here."

"It's fine," Sam said curtly, not looking at the woman who was coming over to take his blood pressure, internally praying that she hadn't overheard anything.

"Hey, Trish." Dani took the bed across from Carter's. "How are things?"

The nurse had that startled look base personnel got when the strangers addressed them so familiarly. But, as most did, she knew who they were and how they'd gotten there. "Dr. Jackson," she smiled. "I take it you knew me where you're from?"

"I've eaten your killer tuna noodle casserole, talked babies, had a few movie nights."

"Talked babies?" Patricia Ngyen raised eyebrows. "Martin and I haven't started on family yet. How many do we have?"

"Oh, I don't want to spoil it for you. But, the little hooligans are quite the charmers."

"Hooligans plural?" Trish smiled, the idea obviously appealing to her. "That's good to know. But if we talked babies, then you must have some of your own?"

Jack could almost feel J.C. tense at the words. Protective.

"I did." Dani's smile was wistful. "He died on Abydos."

The smile faded. "I'm sorry," Trish said.

"Don't be. I don't mind remembering. Besides, my Trish back home and me, we're good friends. You'd have to steal my coffee, or stick me with a square needle, before you burned any potential bridges with me."

A soft laugh. "Square needles? The colonel knows we save those only for him."

"I knew it," Jack put in. Felt J.C. relax at Dani's attempt at humor. _I'm not that bad about Daniel. Am I?_

The nurse finished writing stats down on all five of them and moved away.

"Breathe, Sam," Dani poked his shoulder.

"She's a civilian in our world," J.C. told Jack. "Works in the city."

"So young," Jack noted. Although it was in his file if the colonel wanted to look, he asked Carter, "And how many kids do you have?"

Samuel took a breath. "Two. And Cassie. Please, don't mention it to her. I don't want to embarrass anyone, or make her uncomfortable. This woman may have the face of my wife, but I don't know her."

"You adopted Cassie?" Daniel asked. At Samuel's nod, "I know our Sam thought about it, but she's not married, and we're not reliably on planet."

"Who took her here?"

"Dr. Frasier."

"Cassie adores Janet." Samuel gave a little laugh. "She used to pretend she had the sniffles so we would bring her in. Nothing like spending your whole work week on base, and then coming in on a weekend just to make sure we weren't spawning alien viruses."

Jack looked at J.C. expectantly. "Anyone else _not_ expecting to see anyone?"

"Don't look at me." J.C. leaned up balls of her feet. "I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of gal."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, Jack," Dani sighed. "Can't you just give a straight answer for once? She's divorced," she confided Daniel's direction. "And if we see Bernie here, he can count his blessings that he escaped a similar fate. The man deserved a medal for putting up with her for so long."

J.C. shot back, "I'm so wounded."

Dr. Frasier chose that moment to appear. "They told me no one needed immediate attention."

"I'm only wounded in my tender soul, Doc."

The concerned frown disappeared. "Unless you start spouting poetry," Janet said dryly, "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"We'll keep an eye out for the symptoms," Jack said.

J.C. nudged her Carter.

"I'm good," he assured her.

And he did seem more relaxed on subsequent visits to the infirmary. He had just been taken off guard that first time. Jack imagined he would have felt the same.

The next week, after more disappointments at the final known Grell contact points, Hammond next assigned J.C. and Samuel Carter to tag along with SG-1 for a few missions to see how they did.

Which Jack didn't mind at all. He found it more than comfortable to have someone along who anticipated his orders and methods. He had worked with Teal'c long enough, the Jaffa generally anticipated his orders, but J.C. merely gave him the courtesy of waiting for him to tell her what to do, situation assessed at the same speed he had, already knowing who, what, where, when, and why before he opened his mouth. If that was annoying on base, it wouldn't be if they needed the extra reaction time.

After their second field trip together, he told the general the same-thinking was a bit redundant. He evaluated his counterpart as field capable as soon as he thought the general would send her out on her own command.

J.C. knew the general hadn't forgotten about the paintball thing when her first command was for her and her Major Carter to go along with SG-15 to P7B-021.

Or, as everyone who visited called it, Planet Stink.

Planet Stink was a sulfurous boiling mudhole, the odor of which permeated the skin. And the smell couldn't be washed off: it had to be worn off.

No, the general had not forgotten about the paintball droplets still marking part of the base floor. Especially since the Switzerland-espousing archaeologist didn't have to go on that one. J.C. had to wonder what Reynolds had done to get on the general's shit list, but she courteously didn't ask.

The whole job reconnoitering interesting energy readings of the planet's core was, as far as she was concerned, pretty much letting Carter do his thing for three days while she and Captain Reynolds started a betting pool among the marines on the timing of mud geyser eruptions.

Fascinating. Simply fascinating. Top of the line work.

"What a lovely smell you discovered," Jack commented the next time he saw her.

Made all the worse because she had known he was going to say it. J.C. thought she showed tremendous restraint in refraining from telling him to kiss her ass.

Their next assignment was closer to their usual fare.

Dani was still not needed on the exploration of the primitive looking, jungle type area of P41-821. With no signs of civilization, SG-102 was assigned to go along as more or less a practice run while Major Samuel Carter took readings and samples. The whole trip should have been as routine as the visit to Planet Stink.

They had been gone less than two hours when Harriman announced to the base, "Unscheduled offworld activation."

On the roster to gate out, Jack looked at his watch, glanced at the others, and stepped back from the ramp. No one needed to be told that unscheduled incoming was usually trouble. Even Daniel checked loads and safety on his P-90.

"Receiving SG-101's IDC, sir," the sergeant said. "And MALP telemetry."

"Open the iris, Sergeant," Hammond ordered. "Put the telemetry on screen. This is Stargate Command. We're receiving you, Colonel."

J.C. O'Neill's face scrunched up to the screen. "Sir, we've had a little problem, here. I've got a couple wounded marines and one critical. I don't think we should move him."

"Are you under fire?"

"No, sir." A fact belied by the sudden burst of gunfire in the background. J.C. twisted away from the camera, shouting, "You're just pissing it off! Set some C-4, Major! Fall back to the gate!" Suddenly she was gone, the roar of a P-90 so close to the mike especially loud.

Hammond grasped the mike, announced, "Medical team to the gateroom! We've got a team coming in hot!"

A moment later, as the noise died down a little, Samuel Carter came into view. "It's some kind of lizard, sir. Mega-fauna. They're drawing it off—can we send the mobile wounded through?"

"You're clear to come through, Major," Hammond replied.

Carter clicked his radio. "Move out!"

Moments later, one man was carried home through the gate by two others, followed by another limping marine.

Hammond still counted five more marines on the other side, plus the colonel and Major Carter.

On the base monitor, something shadowy collided with Carter. Samuel's face seemed to spin away from the camera. There was a dizzying display of the distant world rolling violently, image distorted by sparks, along with a glimpse of something—something too fast to be seen as more than a big, dark blur.

Then O'Neill came through the gate, flinging herself gracelessly over the side of the ramp, screaming, "Shoot it! Shoot it!"

Something huge and serpentine filled the event horizon, barely shouldering into the room. The ramp groaned under its weight, a support snapping underneath. Marines let loose with anti-aircraft guns. Jaws big enough to swallow the MALP snapped at the barrage, but the monster's mouth was quickly shredded into bloody gore. The beast thrashed. The long, sinuous tail whipped back at the gate hard enough to snap housings before it cracked against the bunker wall, breaking off a chunk of concrete large enough to expose rebar. Only the height of the creature and its position on the ramp kept the tail from taking out one of the big guns or any number of marines in the defensive line. The gate itself was left canted, the event horizon shut off by some automatic safety mechanism.

Although P-90s didn't pack the punch of the anti-aircraft guns, SG-1 and the rest of the marines in the gate room were firing, too. J.C. scrambled to join the line, bringing her weapon to bear. The copper rain didn't stop until there wasn't enough meat left for the beast to so much as a twitch.

In the sudden, still smoking silence, Jack looked over his counterpart's blood soaked BDUs. "You okay?"

"It's Bauer's." She keyed her radio to contact the observation room. "We're clear down here, sir."

Blast doors opened, admitting Frasier and her team so they could get to the marines from 102.

"You should have warned us you were bringing a boyfriend home," Jack commented.

"Boyfriend, hell," Jacqueline shot back. "That was Mamma. I told 'em, _'don't touch those big round egg looking things over there,' _but do they listen?"

Janet asked, "What happened to Bauer?"

"He got bit," J.C. said tightly. "It's not good, Doc."

"Ready some plasma," Frasier ordered a tech. "At least the Major can set up an IV." She could pre-treat the wounded marine over the radio, if necessary.

J.C. looked up at the tilted gate. The chappa'i were durable, and would work even if the vibrations caused one to fall completely out of its housings. "They should have dialed us back by now."

In the control room, Hammond waited a full 120 seconds before he nodded to Harriman. "Dial them up, Sergeant."

The remaining gate housings protested, activation vibrating the underground bunker in a way it hadn't since engineers had devised better fittings. The gate whooshed on and Harriman clicked the transmitter. "This is Stargate Command, do you read SG-101?"

"Sierra Gulf one-oh-two niner here," came Major Friedman over the speaker. "We're clear on this side, at the moment. Our DHD is damaged, though. Can't dial out."

Samantha Carter leaned over and keyed J.C.'s radio. "Is the gate itself damaged?"

"It's knocked down," replied Freddy Mac. "The uh, dinosaur hit it."

"How bad is it?"

A pause. An eternity as Janet Frasier paced, wanting to go through, knowing she couldn't, at least until they could establish that the other gate could dial back home. If it couldn't, then she would decide whether she would risk court martial to take the wormhole out or not.

Then, words obviously slurred, Samuel Carter's voice came over the speaker, "Send a naquadah generator through. We'll see if we can dial it manually."

"Copy that." Samantha glanced up at Hammond for his approving nod, and then went to get what they needed.

J.C. clicked her radio. "How's Bauer?"

"Still here, sir," Friedman came back. "We're all still here."

"Carter?"

"Took a conk on the head, ma'am. As long as we don't pick up any more pets, we should all be okay."

"Copy. We'll send you some heavier ordinance." Her turn to look a request up to Hammond.

The general gave the orders to the Mastersergeant Siler, and more equipment was brought and loaded onto a FRED while waiting for Carter to return with one of her precious generators. Samantha said, "This should do it."

J.C. keyed her radio. "Hey Mac, did you miss me?"

"Who are you again?" came the reply.

"We got some fresh toys for you kids to tinker with."

"Copy."

It seemed to take forever for the FRED to traverse the ramp. An eternity before Friedman acknowledged that she had the equipment, an eternity for the outgoing wormhole to collapse again.

"Let me get this straight," Jack broke the heavy waiting silence. "There are dinosaurs on that planet?"

"And a little over here." J.C. kicked at a glob of flesh.

"What made you think to let it follow you back through the gate, Colonel?"

"Had to get it away from Bauer. It liked the smell of blood, but it likes things that move more. Besides, I knew Reynolds here would be jealous if Freddy Mac bagged the first dinosaur all by herself."

"Booyah," Reynolds said evenly, not looking at all enthused.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteeen, and Hammond was thinking about redialing just to see what was going on. Then the gate began those teeth rattling vibrations again, followed by Harriman's IDC confirmation. More radio contact to confirm IDs, and the iris was re-opened. With relief, the wormhole was allowed to collapse again so the gate could be re-dialed for the outgoing medical team and the SG-2 and SG-3 escort.

Within two hours, people and equipment were home. Major Carter had taken a good, bruising wallop and gotten a concussion for his efforts, and it would take eight hours of surgery to put Bauer back together, but all their people came home.

_This time, _J.C. thought when she was finally able to visit Bauer's bedside. _We all came home __this time__._ She gripped the groggy marine's hand briefly. "That sister of yours is being flown in from Idaho. Should be here in a couple hours. In the meantime, you'd better stay away from anything bigger than a chihuahua. That's an order, marine."

At that, Bauer managed a weak smile and a soft, "Yes ma'am."

J.C. gripped his shoulder briefly. As she got up to go, she saw Jack watching her from the doorway.

"I was going to say the very same thing," he said.

"Great minds think alike."

"O'Malley's and a beer?"

"Eh, I'm going to stick around for a while. At least until the younger Bauer gets here."

Jack nodded. He'd wait, too. Two chess games and a few cups of base coffee later, Chelsea Bauer arrived. J.C. finally stretched and, yawning, tapped Jack's shoulder, "You still up for O'Malley's?"

"I'll drive."

"You pretty much have to. I left my truck in another reality."

"Yeah, I've heard that excuse before."

It wasn't until 101 had completed a few more trips off world that Hammond cleared the visitors to seek housing off base. Timing, of course, coincided with their first authorized paychecks.

"Until I can find a place," J.C. asked Jack, "I wondered if I could use your spare room."

Jack had done no less for Daniel until the archaeologist had gotten back on his feet. "I got a spare key around somewhere."

"Jack," she clapped his shoulder, "I know where you hide all the spare keys. I was just asking out of courtesy."

"Thanks." _Wait a minute_. He tilted his head at her. "Bank accounts?"

"I had them send you new pin numbers yesterday. Really, Jack, you should have done that sooner."

All things considered, he probably should have. "Fine. You're buying the beer."

Samuel and Dani were a little slower to move out of the base guest quarters. Carter might not have moved out at all, except after three weeks, Harriman was making noise about actually using the rooms for VIPs, going so far as to give Carter a list of places he was authorized to rent with some pointedly circled in red.

Daniel designated himself as their native guide and drove the pair of them to sign leases, and then took them junk shop hopping over a couple weekends.

Samuel regretted the help immediately, especially since the Jacksons were as fascinated by resale shop treasure hunting as they were with off-world finds. Really, he wondered as he idled by a CD rack, didn't they see enough old stuff at work? As far as he was concerned, their mission was to just get what they needed loaded in Jackson's jeep and get out. It wasn't like they were going to find a Goa'ould handheld device amid all the—_hey, was that a Mouth Music album? _ _Cool_. And the Afrocelt Sound System, and here was AC/DC. _Yeah, this place is a gold mine._

That next weekend, beer and pizza night at Jack's changed. Not that it had always beer and pizza night—it could be beer and movies, or beer and poker. Hell, sometimes it wasn't even beer, but Starbucks and chess, and just as often, it wasn't even night, but Sunday morning brunch.

But the time and group activity weren't what changed. It was that the get together expanded. What had once been only Jack and Daniel, or Jack and Teal'c, then became the pair and Teal'c, if not all four of SG-1 and occasionally Janet after she adopted Cassie, to a group twice that size. That first shared beer and pizza night—really, a barbecue on Saturday afternoon—involved nine people, and yes, J.C. was the one to buy the beer, which was really a couple six packs, some froo-froo stuff for the Jacksons, plus fruit juice for Cassie and Teal'c.

To Jack's amazement, by the time everyone had arrived, Dani had the Jaffa sitting in the living room holding yarn between his big, rough hands while she pulled it into balls.

"You knit?" Jack asked with raised eyebrows.

Teal'c answered, "It is an interesting custom, O'Neill. Danielle Jackson has vowed to teach me."

"Really?"

Dimples. Those killer Jackson dimples. Amused, Dani replied, "You don't?"

"What? No." Jack rocked back on heels before he thought to look suspiciously at J.C..

"No," Jacqueline said quickly. "Oh, god no."

Laughing, Danielle added, "Take it easy, you two. It isn't like I just offered everyone crack or something."

J.C. drew an imaginary line in the carpet. "Keep your knitting cooties on your side of the room and nobody gets hurt."

Janet and Cassie brought presents. "It's not my birthday," Jack noted. In fact, it was no one's birthday.

"It's an Un-birthday," Cassie said, in honor of the movie she had been allowed to choose. "Everyone has an Un-birthday now and then."

The O'Neills ripped into the bright wrapping paper with the fervor of little kids, so they were first to find out that the presents were t-shirts. Jack and J.C. held up identical black ones, the big lettering in pink reading, "Evil Twin."

"But we have the same," Jack pointed out.

"They're not so much to tell you apart," Janet explained, "as they are warning labels."

"Oh yeah, baby," J.C. said, grinning. "You know it."

The Jacksons, undoing their tape and ribbons with only slightly less care than one gave packaging of an artifact, were a little slower to reveal pink shirts with the black lettering, "Good Twin."

Jack had to laugh. "I think you got the labels mixed up, Doc."

"No," Daniel disagreed, "I'm pretty sure she got this one right."

"Daniel," Jack pointed out, "she has you _knitting_."

"It's the nineties. It wouldn't kill you to try something new."

"I'm not risking yarn cancer, thank you very much."

The Carters had matching purple shirts with blue letters, "Wonder Twin." "Cause you're so smart," Cassie explained.

"It's awesome," Samantha said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Thanks, sweetie."

And Teal'c had a rainbow tie-die with "LIVE FREE."

"Cassie," Janet told him, "wanted to have _shel kek nem ron _put on it, but we wanted you to be able to wear it out in public."

Teal'c tilted his head. "I am honored."

They all had to put them on right away, of course.

The doctor and Cassie, along with the Carters, spent quality time in the kitchen making mixers, at least until they realized no one had thought to bring desert. Then they were scouring the pantry for ingredients, testing to see just how ossified Jack's flour was, and debating substitutes for his crusty baking soda. "How," Janet wanted to know, "do you turn baking soda this brown?"

Samuel closed the refrigerator. "That's definitely a job for Hazmat."

"It was your turn to clean," Jack told his new roommate.

"What?" J.C. shrugged. "I have the same standards of clean you do. What do we use baking soda for anyway?"

"We don't. That was Daniel's, back when he was using Hotel O'Neill. He thought I should have ingredients or something."

"What for?"

"My point exactly."

"There's only one thing this flour is good for," Samantha sighed. Then, mischievously, she flicked some of the dust at Cassie.

Cassie, of course, had to flick some back, for some reason, at both Carters. Things quickly deteriorated into a full fledged flour fight from there.

"Out!" Janet ordered. "All of you! Go play in the yard!"

"You can't banish me from my own kitchen," Jack protested. He looked at Daniel, who was still safely out of it in the living room. "She can't banish me from my own kitchen, can she?"

"Don't drag me into your evilness," Daniel shot back without looking up.

"See? See what happens? This whole 'good' thing," Jack told Janet, "has gone straight to his head."

"Out!" Janet resorted to shoving.

Samuel swept Cassie up and hauled her outside. With his long arms, he tossed her in the air, catching her securely despite the wiggling and screaming.

Samantha was a little envious of his upper body strength; Cassie had grown up enough that she could no longer toss the child around so easily. Samuel was still able to swing her around, hurling her head first toward the ground, counterbalancing to spin her back up, as Cassie giggled and held out arms like a plane, begging for more.

For the first time in a long time, Samantha reminisced about what childhood with Jacob Carter had been like: the delighted howls, the giggling that he induced in her, when she had been small enough to engage in such undignified play. She glanced covertly at Jack. At that moment, he had paused over the grill, his eyes distant. Remembering other times. Yes, she thought of that hungry look, he had played with Charlie like that. He had been that kind of father, too.

Samuel and Cassie were the first to pass out, fading away sometime during Disney's Alice in Wonderland. They were stretched out on the couch, the kid sprawled on his chest, Cassie drooling on his shoulder. When it was time to switch movies, Daniel turned subtitles on and the sound down, so they wouldn't wake anyone.

And despite the fact that Jack's living room was small, that Teal'c and Dani had commandeered two of the three chairs for their needlecraft project, that Jack had been left, by unspoken consensus, his comfy chair, with everyone else sprawled in the small area of floor in front of the couch, passing around popcorn and chips and the Mystery Cookies Janet had managed to concoct from fruit and soda and practically nothing else from Jack's kitchen, despite the fact that there were nine of them in what could have easily been cramped quarters, none of them felt crowded in that small room.

That was how Jack's beer and pizza nights—which might have both or neither of those things—changed, their chosen family so readily and so warmly, quite naturally, simply expanding, feeling as if it had never been otherwise.

68

68


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: this chapter takes place in season 3, after Forever and a Day.

Part 5. The Reveal.

"SG-1 is coming in hot!" Hammond's voice announced over the warning claxon.

The security and medical teams assembled, preparing for whatever might come through the gate from PL8-236.

A desert planet, J.C. knew. It was one where her team had encountered the Grell before. Since the Grell liked remote, barren places, there shouldn't have been anything on 236 to cause anyone any trouble.

Not a lot to see through the MALP lens. Hammond resisted the urge to pace, listening to the gun fire going on in the background, his premier team too busy to send back explanations or make much radio chatter. O'Neill's warning had been terse: one Goa'uld transport, about fifty Jaffa ringing in. His team had disrupted the first wave by getting the jump on them, taking them out as the rings went up, buying time for Jackson to dial the DHD. Things got a little more complicated when the unseen mothership sent down a second transport at the same time as the next ring wave. As the final chevron locked and the IDC was sent, the third wave was finding purchase. In another minute, the gate would be over-run.

Carter came through first, clearing the ramp, getting behind the line of marines before she paused to catch her breath. Staff weapons fire followed, and Hammond ordered the shield lowered between the gate room and command. On planet, Jaffa fire hit the MALP and sensor telemetry went down. Another moment, and the event horizon rippled for O'Neill and Teal'c, both running for safety.

Jaffa followed, cut down by the carefully placed cover fire.

It took a moment to register with O'Neill why the iris wasn't spiraling shut. "Where's Daniel?" he barked over the noise.

"He should have come through first!" Carter shouted back.

Something cold gripping his gut, Jack crouched behind the marine line, keyed his radio. "Daniel!" A pause, and then a repeat.

A staticky reply. "Here. I'm here."

_Thank god_. Able to breathe again, Jack fired back, "Where the hell are you?"

"In a hole."

"A hole?"

A pause. "Um, yeah."

In a tone reserved for a small child, "Can you get out of the hole?"

Jackson responded in kind. "I could, if I could lift the big rock that's on top of me."

Crap. Trust Daniel to find the only pit on the entire planet.

Listening in on the radio conversation, Hammond couldn't let Jaffa continue to pour through the gate. "Close the iris, Sergeant."

As the iris spiraled shut, Jack radioed back, "Are you taking fire?"

Daniel returned, "No."

"Sit tight, Daniel."

"Jack, there's too many of them."

Snapped, "We don't leave our people behind."

"I can—" words were cut off with a spate of coughing.

"Daniel?" A pause. Jack said his name again.

Voice crackling, "I can hear them ringing in, taking up positions."

Yeah, now that they had control of the gate room, Jack could hear the enemy thumping into the iris, either throwing themselves after their comrades or laying down cover fire in the hopes of getting a foothold on this side. It might take them a couple minutes to figure out they weren't getting through. Jaffa could be so pig-headed. "How badly are you injured?"

"There's nothing you can do."

Yeah, except let him get taken alive. "Answer the damn question, Daniel."

Another pause. "I'm pretty sure one leg's broken. Not sure about the other. Hard to breathe. Can't tell if it's dust or this big rock sitting on my chest."

"A rock?"

"Yeah. Ground collapsed, caved in with me."

Finally an explanation. "Just sit there and shut up and I'll get back to you." No reply. Good. Jack stood, pacing, trying to think. Trouble was, they had already reviewed these scenarios. Hammond wasn't going to open the gate just to let their surge become hamburger on the Jaffa line.

The only back-up plan they had was try to make contact with the Tok'ra in the area, or the Asgard, see if they had a ship in the vicinity that could pull Daniel out. That could take weeks. Could he even survive that long? Or were the Jaffa about to find him?

Jacqueline O'Neill looked at her team. Something unspoken passed. Carter opened his mouth, was cut off by the curt shake of J.C.'s head.

Resolved, the colonel stepped over to Jack, caught his arm. "There's something I may be able to do."

Jack's eyes riveted to her face, narrowed.

"I don't know if it will work."

"What?"

"Get me an outgoing wormhole." A glance up at Hammond.

"No one is going back through that gate."

"Just do it, Jack."

He hesitated.

"We're on the clock here," she pointed out. "Do you really want me to take the time to explain?"

Time they didn't have. He got the point, clicked his radio, already moving for the command deck. "Daniel, there's something we're going to try, but we've got to get an outgoing wormhole from here."

Jackson responded, "Not going anywhere."

Samuel gripped J.C.'s sleeve, voice low. "It's not reliable."

She said, "Gotta try."

"What if you get stuck? We don't even know—"

Curtly, "What we don't know can fill a library." She reached over and plucked two canisters of tear gas off a marine. "How long at my weight?"

His fist tightened on her sleeve, a silent protest. And then Carter let go. Slowly, reluctantly, "Ten minutes at the outside."

"And with him and our gear?"

"Colonel, you won't be able to dial back."

"How _long_, Major?"

"Three minutes. At the most. If it works."

"I'm sorry." J.C. fished in his pack for the heavier medical kit he carried. "I'm leaving you two to explain it."

"Oh, you're not sorry at all," Dani scolded. She saw the other Carter watching them, sighed.

Up in the control room, Hammond responded to Jack's request with, "What could she possibly do?"

"I don't know, sir," Jack said. "But we've got nothing to lose." Except, of course, announcing to the enemy that there was something they had to gain by dialing back. Jack just hoped that re-engaging the wormhole didn't cause the Jaffa to search the grounds immediately.

Hammond nodded to the sergeant. The klaxon blared, announcing the dialing of the gate. Harriman intoned each chevron's locking.

J.C. waited for the kawoosh, the opening of the iris, before moving up the ramp. "Jackson," she keyed the radio, "you still with us?"

A long pause. She started to ask again when Daniel's voice crackled back. "Here."

"They know you're there?"

Coughing. "If I k-keep t-talking."

_And if he kept coughing. _"Where's the hole, Daniel, in relation to the gate? Can you give me an idea?"

Hoarsely, "About three meters to the right of the DHD."

Samantha Carter looked up at Jack, both wondering, _what the hell had he been doing way over there?_

"How far's the drop?" J.C. was asking.

"Maybe twenty feet."

"Copy. Sit tight."

At that point, J.C. touched something on her watch. Cursed. She tapped the watch with a tear gas canister. And disappeared.

Just disappeared.

No flashy lights, no clunk and blur of Asgard beam technology. One moment she was there, the next, gone.

Harriman blinked at his telemetry. The feed was indicating someone in transit. "Outbound traveler," he said uncertainly.

"That's just a watch, my ass," Jack said.

Hammond frowned at him, and then frowned down at the gateroom.

Oh yeah, Samuel thought as he came up the spiral staircase. The general was pissed. "I can explain, sir."

"Oh yes," Hammond said in a controlled voice. "Yes, you will."

"It's—ah, phase technology, sir." Samuel swallowed, the words difficult. "Like with the reetou. At least, I think that's how it works."

"You're not sure?"

"We got it off a dead Jaffa a year ago. The power source was similar enough, I managed to cobble it into the Grell tech."

"I wanted to tell you we had it," Danielle injected. "Samuel was under orders not to, but I made the choice. You have every right to be angry."

"It's not the people in the SGC she doesn't trust, sir," Samuel finished lamely.

Seething, Hammond tried to keep his words civil. "Who did you think you were deceiving?"

"It's the NID," Dani said. "That was her hold out in the event that things were taken out of your hands."

Ironically, Hammond thought as a moment passed, a moment in which his temper cooled, he was the one who had let her keep it. He preferred that his people in the field have the best equipment available, and the timepiece had seemed handy. But then, he had been thinking it was just a watch, too.

However he would deal with it, now wasn't the time.

On another world, only seconds away, J.C. had no time to spare for future consequences. She stepped through the gate, face to face with rows of off-color Jaffa staves. They didn't fire right away, so she had the small comfort of being invisible.

_For the moment_. It wasn't, as Sammy had pointed out, exactly reliable.

She strode down the steps without pause, scanning the ground for signs of the sink Jackson had fallen into. She could see the moisture of freshly exposed sand, about four meters wide; the slash in the ground had probably only been a meter wide when Daniel had gracelessly discovered it. The sides weren't stable. Nothing to brace or tie onto to belay herself down.

As a bonus, it was only going to be minutes before the gate stopped holding Jaffa attention and some overachieving underling took notice. Daniel wasn't visible from ground level, and yet, as she peered into the opening, because she knew what to listen for under the sounds of excited Jaffa, she could make out muffled coughing. They were going to hear that soon enough.

And she just had minutes. Minutes to make the decision whether or not to jump down from the other end and hopefully land on something soft. Something soft that wasn't Daniel himself.

She popped the tabs on the tear gas and tossed them back toward the gate. They were still out of phase with her, but when she either moved too far out of range or deactivated the device, they would go back into phase.

Wouldn't the Jaffa be surprised.

She guessed Daniel would be on the end closest to the gate and struggled down the other slippery slope of sand.

Seconds to assess. There was, indeed, rock. Only half conscious now, Daniel was mostly buried. He had one arm free, which had allowed him to work the radio, and he had been working on getting the other out. Probably the only thing keeping him from being entirely buried was the angle of shelf rock that had pinned him in some unseen way under the sand. No way to tell what was broken or how, or if he still even had legs at all under there.

Not good.

Carefully placing a hand to go over his mouth just in case, J.C. deactivated the phase device, conserving time, thinking about the precious minute she had already wasted.

He was startled, blinking at her from behind glasses, coughing softly, but he didn't shout.

Still alert. Didn't look like he had a head injury, either. Good. That helped. Well, in some ways. From his perspective, this would be a whole hell of a lot better if he were completely unconscious.

Up above, Jaffa were shouting at the sudden appearance of a cloud of tear gas.

"I gotta move you," J.C. said, keeping voice low. "It's gonna hurt."

Daniel shook his head. Even if she were superhuman and could yank him out of the rubble, he wasn't going anywhere fast.

She twisted open her canteen, giving him a swallow. "You want morphine now, or you want to try to help me?"

"J.C.—"

"Don't argue. We don't have a lot of time. I'd recommend the morphine, myself."

Water soothed his dusty throat. "Help you."

Of course he would choose that option. The Jacksons were the very soul of helpfulness. "Here's the deal," she whispered. "I have less than three minutes to get you out of the ground, drag you out of this hole, and get to cover." _Not asking much here, are we?_ "I can't stop to tie off any bleeding or chase stray cats."

No explanation of how. Slowly, because she was obviously not grasping the situation, he whispered back, "O-kay."

"There is a small bit of good news." She removed his glasses, tucking them into a tac-vest pocket for safekeeping before she scraped at the sand, helped pull his other hand free.

"S'that?"

"During those three minutes, you can scream your heart out."

He covered his mouth to muffle a cough, unable to stop the brief spasming of his lungs. Finally managed, "Great."

She squatted down over him, bracing feet. "Put your arms around me."

"You can't pull me out like that—"

Harshly, "Daniel, do as you're told. Chest to chest, as close as possible. Gotta fool the watch into thinking we're one person. Just do it," she said, throat vibrating against his ear. "Come on, Dr. Jackson. You can do this. Hold tight. Get ready."

Then she did something. Daniel's vision shifted, colors changed, the world going slightly out of tint like a bad TV. And suddenly, she was standing up, pulling his weight directly up in some way—he couldn't be sure how, the hole certainly wasn't that vertical—and he immediately didn't really care anymore as white hot liquid pain oozed upward from his leg in a bad way. A scream ripped out of his chest. He couldn't _not_ have screamed.

He wanted her to stop moving, just to stop, each movement jarring his flesh in a sickening blur, but from the moment he was free of the ground, she didn't stop more than to shift him so arms were around his chest from behind. She was pulling him backwards, and he couldn't have said how she maneuvered him up the sandy slope, only that his legs were dragging, the smooth sand as jarring spikes into him as if it were washboard. He glimpsed Jaffa positioned around the gate, vaguely aware it was as if they didn't see him.

How could they not? He couldn't stop the agonized sounds tearing out of his throat.

And then it was over a rise, and J.C. was still dragging him, dragging him out of sight of the Jaffa, getting the curve of a dune between them. Dragging a little further before colors shifted again, and she had a hand over his mouth, shushing him, lowering him at last.

Which was not good. He groaned, bile rising, and rolled to one side, his own movement making the liquid feeling in his leg rise straight to his throat. Inelegantly sick. Vaguely aware of her hand on his shoulder keeping him from tipping over into his own vomit. She eased him back, held the canteen to his lips. He swished and spit to the side, careful to move slowly. The sun blared down at him, adding to the throbbing behind his eyes.

J.C. adjusted packs and P-90. Time to check those legs. Yes, one was a horrific mess. A quick tourniquet made Daniel groan. He was likely to get noisy again when she moved him. And she had to move him again. Soon. The only thing she could do to make it better for him was get things done as quickly as possible and get him settled somewhere. At least she had been on this planet before—if in another reality—and had some idea of the lay of the sand. There was better cover in some stone outcroppings within two clicks, maybe less.

J.C. scooted back up the rise. They weren't far enough. Not nearly far enough. But the tear gas was buying them time, and the shouting of Jaffa had covered Daniel's retching. Worse now than noise, they were going to leave tracks, if anyone figured out that they needed to follow. She was just going to have to pray they stayed lucky.

Keying the radio, she said softly, "This is Sierra Gulf one zero one niner. Do you copy, Sierra Gulf Charlie?"

Hammond's voice, "We copy, 101."

"I picked up your package, but there are too many big dogs with a taste for mailman for me to deliver."

Jack returned, "How is the package?"

"Pretty bad shape. Next time, I'd try UPS."

"Anything we can do to help?"

"If you've got something that can provide a distraction for a few minutes, we could use a bit of cover so we can relocate."

"I think we can arrange to send a little present through the gate," Jack said. "When can we expect the next radio contact?"

J.C. paused. "The nearest cover is out of radio range. Can't call you back until the big dogs are gone." Of course, the Jaffa might never leave. For all she knew, they might be setting up a permanent camp. "Over."

Hammond's voice again. "Copy, 101." A pause. "Godspeed. Over."

_Godspeed. _Well, Hammond might be pissed, but not so pissed he wouldn't wish her luck. That was something. J.C. scrunched back down next to Daniel, fished in her tac-vest for the right injectibles. "Time for a little morphine, buddy, a little knock out drops."

He protested thinly as he felt the sting of the needle. "Can't help if I'm out."

She didn't reply, watching eyes as he faded fast, finally, blissfully passing out.

Over by the gate, something came through that exploded noisily. J.C. guessed a missile from the launch in the gateroom. Enough racket to keep the Jaffa focused on more possible incoming from the gate.

J.C. pulled out a rain poncho, spread it on the ground next to Daniel, eased him onto it, then arranged part of a pack under his legs so they were slightly elevated and cushioned.

Then came the dragging. She had to avoid cresting dunes to keep from being seen, which made the two clicks more like four or five.

Eventually, she found the rocks the aerial reconnaissance drone had spotted, and with some pre-move scouting, she found a little crevasse that would do. She had to fireman's carry Jackson the last part of the way, making a separate trip for packs. Then came a little more scouting, just to make sure they were alone, that the Jaffa had not picked up their trail.

In the dry terrain, tracks could linger for months. She obscured what she could.

Back to take a look at Jackson and give more attention to the damage. His chest was pretty battered, deeply bruised, but nothing moved unnaturally under his skin; maybe a cracked rib, but nothing life threatening. Peeling back his pants leg wasn't pretty. She knew enough to recognize a compound fracture, and she felt incredibly inadequate. Moving him had so not made things any better. On a good note, the other leg wasn't broken, just scraped and bruised to hell and gone; just needed a cleaning and a little wrapping, and it would be fine.

"Shoulda handed the watch off to a marine medic," she told her unconscious patient apologetically. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson. This leg may never play the piano again." She injected an antibiotic before setting it.

Daniel roused briefly when his leg was straightened, gasping at the bright flash of pain that made his vision sparkle. Only vaguely aware that someone, somewhere, was doing something to part of him that hurt, oh yes, it hurt a lot.

J.C. watched him fall back into unconsciousness. She was left to clean him up as best she could, set up camp, and dig in to wait.

Daniel didn't remember much about their first days on PL8-236. Pain was blurred by morphine. There was shivering, and someone warm and soft lying next to him, voice reassuring him, a warm hand or a cold damp cloth stroking his forehead. Then there was heat, when his skin was slick and sticky under his clothes; the thinsulate blanket was too much to bear, and he kicked to have it off of him. Kicking was bad, as it generated sharp pains in his leg, sometimes accompanied by waves of nausea.

J.C. lay next to him, keeping him warm in the freezing night by placing hotpacks underneath them, then wrapping herself and the blanket around him, listening to whispers meant for his dead wife, speaking in soothing tones when he whimpered, trying to keep him still. Nothing more she could do for him except wait for the fever to lose its grip. When he finally settled into more restful sleep, she passed days in silent dread that he might not wake at all, tapering him off the morphine as supplies ran low.

When he finally woke, thoughts were so slow and thick it took Daniel a while to figure out that the blurry brown sky above him was some kind of gauze. As he was able to focus, he could see a thin homespun cloth was suspended above by pitons hammered into the stone.

Shade, he realized. Someone had hung the cloth to make shade.

Idly, he wondered where that had come from. It definitely wasn't standard Special Forces issue.

He turned his head a little, took in surroundings. The bottom of the crevasse was sandy, and someone—_J.C._, he realized—had time to find scraps of wood and dig a spot for a night fire. She had also undressed him. In boxers and undershirt, Daniel was stretched out on a thinsulate blanket in a little dug out hollow, his legs wrapped and elevated, one in an inflatable splint.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." J.C. shifted from her place by the cold fire pit, moving the few feet on hands and knees. "You awake this time, or just trying to fake me out?"

Throat dry, making his voice scratch and crackle. "What?"

"Look. Our first word. And English, too. Awesome. How about some water?"

He was surprised how heavy his hand was, how far it seemed to the canteen, how his pass at it fell short.

"Easy there, champ." J.C. slid a hand under his head, supporting as she lifted the opening to his lips.

Tepid, metallic water slid into his mouth, some trickling out the side, and yet, satisfyingly, mostly down his throat. Nasty canteen water. It was great. He managed another swallow before it was taken away.

"Think you could try a little food? We have some C-rations here. Two kinds: you want to try Bad, or Worse? Or maybe you'd prefer a bite of power bar?"

Thoughts were as tepid as the canteen water. Daniel shook his head. He wasn't hungry, and reconstituted beef or chicken was far from tempting.

"Okay. How about a deal? You take a bite of something, and I'll answer your questions."

He blinked at her. He didn't have any questions.

"Ah." J.C. held up a finger. Fished in a vest pocket for something, settled glasses on his nose. "Perhaps these will revive your superpowers, Dr. Jackson."

Vision cleared. "What—" he cleared his throat, still only managing a hoarse, "what superpowers?"

"That Jackson curiosity. Don't you want to know how long we've been here? How long you've been out? Where we are? Don't you want to ask me where I got the ultra-cool decorations?"

He moved eyes to take in the hanging cloth, the bare red rock, the heap of their packs. "I think the interior decorating gene skipped you."

She grinned at the attempt at humor, despite how slowly and awkwardly it had come. "I'm wounded, Daniel. I slave away all day moving the furniture around, and all I get is criticism. How about some chicken broth?"

Liquid sounded good. "More water?"

"You need something to go in the water. Besides, you asked me one question already. That's the deal. One question, one swallow of food. It won't take long to make it."

He must have dozed off, because he woke again to her soft voice, a touch on his cheek. She let him blink awake before offering the oily, salty smelling drink. He wrinkled his nose, but she was pretty insistent. Like the canteen water, it had that distinct metallic flavor, but it was actually better than it smelled. One swallow, and then he realized he wanted the next.

It occurred to him, at some point, that something was off in his groin when he shifted, something not the same as he had left it.

She must have anticipated the slightly panicked look. "I didn't want you moving around with that leg, even with my help. I'm USAF. I know how to put in a catheter."

His face warmed.

She moved back to the little camp stove, rinsing his cup with sand and heating it to sterilize it.

He took the chance to check himself, found everything still there, just with . . . a little extra. Okay, he knew how it worked. He decided he could live with it. Especially since, well, just shifting around that much generated warning twinges in his right leg. Maybe she was right. At the moment, walking was definitely overrated.

He slept and woke again, and again she was there to ply him with more broth.

"Okay," he said over the next cup, a little less hoarse, a little more alert. "I'll bite. How long was I out?"

"Want a crumb of powerbar?" She waved the one she had peeled his direction. At the shake of his head, she shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"How long?"

"The deal was food."

"Hey, I drank this whole cup of broth."

"Broth isn't food."

Not fair. That was changing the rules. But he didn't really have the strength to argue. "Gimme some."

She waited until he had started chewing before she made a show of consulting her watch. "It's been nine days since our arrival on good old PL8-236."

_Nine days?! _No wonder she had catheterized him. Hell, he thought as he touched the beard sprouted on his face, measuring the stubble, as much as he didn't remember, and as sick-nasty as he felt, he must have been pretty out of it to be missing nine days. He watched her thoughtfully, being watched in return, then took another bite. "Where are you getting water?"

"I'm stealing it from the Jaffa."

Okay. He was having trouble remembering, although it seemed there was some important detail he should be asking about. It was still too hard to think. He asked for water to wash the bite of powerbar down. All right, maybe he needed a little more food. "Got any more of the Bad rations left?"

"What, you don't want to go straight to Worse?"

"I'll stick with Bad as long as it lasts."

"Good call." She sliced a portion of C-ration.

He managed to eat half the serving before he drifted off to sleep again.

He slept and woke, on and off, over the next few days. When J.C. was there, she plied him with more broth and rations, dispensed Tylenol, checked the dressings on his legs, showed him how to drain the cath-bag for himself, gave him wet naps to wipe off the fever sweat. She used ice frozen overnight in Ziplocs to pack his broken leg, attempting to keep the swelling down. When he really did need to get out of bed for his practical personal business, she helped him then, too, carefully half carrying him to the designated spot. The experience was tooth-jarringly unpleasant, and he quickly realized he couldn't have gone anywhere on his own.

During the day, he lay in his little hollow, which was hot enough despite the shade to make him think more fondly of the freezing nights. She helped him shift, using the thinsulate to ease him onto one side or the other, or onto his back, so careful with his healing break.

At night, she lit the little camp fire, warming the hollow slightly, although she explained that she couldn't bring up the flames too much because not only was wood scarce, but they didn't want smoke strong enough to alert the Jaffa patrols. When the fire died down and the desert chill settled around them, she took off her boots and crawled into Daniel's hollow, drawing a second thinsulate blanket over them and spooning to his back for warmth.

He tensed the first time he woke aware of her lying with him. It was strange, but it was also familiar, and he realized she must have done so every night they had been there. As the lingering effects of the fire dissipated further, he found himself snuggling against her, seeking the soft warmth.

Soft indeed. After the catheter was gone and the effects of the morphine left him, his body was only too aware that Jacqueline O'Neill was definitely female.

"Oh for crying out loud," she muttered one night, half awake. "Would you quit squirming around?"

What else could he do? Being that close made things worse, and he was just trying to be polite.

When he didn't say anything, she came fully awake, clicked the light on her P-90 on him. "What's the matter?" Then clicked her tongue, turning the flashlight off. "For goodness sake, Jackson. I'm old enough to feel neither flattery at a morning stiffy, nor mistake it for some kind of come-on. It's," pointedly hitting the backlight switch on her watch to check, "thirty four degrees, and I'm cold. Do I really have to go make my own bed? Or can we continue to ignore your boy parts and get some sleep?"

He wanted to sleep. And she was so damn warm. The attempt at humor helped. Of course, pressing along her back didn't. Not when her neck smelled so very nice. Yes, very nice. He lay awake after realizing that he liked it, trying to identify what it was about that scent which had nothing to do with the gaminess both of them were beginning to exude from weeks curing unwashed in the heat. No, it was something less obvious, an underlying smell that was uniquely her.

He went to sleep with that comforting odor lulling him into deeper sleep.

Every morning, he learned, she geared up and left their niche, going out to see what the Jaffa were up to. Some days, she came back with full canteens or something scavenged.

On their fifteenth day, she came back with packaged supplies. "Jaffa jerky," she guessed at one leathery substance. Sniffing another, "I'm thinking they've never heard of Fruit Roll-Ups."

"How are you getting this?" he had to wonder.

She sighed at that. "Sam partially figured out a doohickey we found, and adapted it to my watch. It, uh, makes me invisible."

"Invisible," he repeated.

"Pretty much, yeah. But before you get to thinking that I sneak around on base and find out who picks their nose in the men's locker when nobody is looking, the battery doesn't last very long, and it takes about a million times longer to recharge than the time you get to use it."

"A million?"

"Close enough. By myself, no equipment, I get about ten minutes per charge. The more weight you add to that, the incrementally less time you have."

He was remembering something, the off color world, being pulled out of the rubble. Screaming. Being told he _could _scream. "It masks sound, too?" At her nod, "Did you pull me _through _the rock?"

"Yes. And no, I don't know why we don't sink into the ground. And before you ask, there isn't enough aspirin left for me to try to remember what Sammy told me about how it works. He calls it being out of phase."

"Like the reetou?"

"Yeah. That's all I can tell you. He can explain it when we get back home."

So that explained nothing, and yet everything. Why they still had food, the bits and pieces brought back to their shelter, where she had probably gotten the homespun that hung above them. "What's our plan on getting home?"

Chewing the newly acquired jerky thoughtfully, she said, "Two options. One: wait until the Jaffa lose interest in whatever brought them here and they leave, then gate home. Or two: wait until you're mobile, sneak aboard a Goa'uld ship, and hide until we can disembark on another planet with a more accessible gate."

He ruminated on that for a while. "They could be here for years."

"Or they could pop off in a few days." The point was moot to her, either way, until he was more mobile.

"Any hint at why they're here?" he wondered.

"They haven't really established any kind of base for building, as far as I can tell, or imported any slaves, so I don't think they're re-establishing the old settlement or anything like that. They've just got tents and other temporary shelters."

"You think they might be here for the same reason we are?"

"To find the Grell?" She shook her head. "Unless they're very different in your reality, the Grell despise the Goa'ould. But the Goa'ould could be here to re-supply consumables, water, atmosphere, whatever they need on their mother ships. Or they could be meeting another snake head or an ally. Your guess is as good as mine, Dr. Jackson."

Which left them with nothing but time on their hands.

Time which, as his condition improved, was impossibly, mind-numbingly dull. Daniel didn't even have his laptop, or a book to flip through. He had his field journal, of course, in which he made notes and sketches of his finds, but there was nothing here to write about. He had time to jot out a few theories that had been in the back of his mind for a while, explore some ideas on paper, but there were limits to that without references.

J.C. watching wasn't much entertainment, either. Sometime during every day, she did an annoying number of stomach crunches and push-ups, but for long periods on end, she laid flat on her back and did nothing but toss a rock straight up, from one hand to the other, over and over and over, out of sheer boredom. During the heat of the day, she dozed, as he did, idling the hours away.

Daniel envied the time she spent scouting and hunting.

"I hope Jack is recording the Simpsons for me," she commented one afternoon.

"Wonder what the others are up to, today?" he mused.

"Out saving the galaxy, I'm sure, while you grow a beard, and I turn gray."

He had noticed that her roots were coming in a burnished steel instead of the light red of the rest of it. More the color of the Jack O'Neill he knew. "I'm sure they've contacted our allies trying to find us a ride home."

"Yeah."

"Have you had radio contact since we've been here?"

She shook her head. "If they open a wormhole and try to contact us, that will just make the Jaffa curious. Best just to leave it alone until we can actually do something."

After they had been there three weeks, she was getting increasingly irritable, pacing their space, checking and rechecking supplies and equipment, her barely contained energy indicating she was going as bonkers with boredom as he was.

"Deck of cards?" he wondered at one point.

"In Sammy's pack," she replied curtly.

"I could make some with journal pages."

Which was something to do. No scissors, but with her knife, they made an inelegantly crude deck which were marked enough they both wildly cheated at whatever they played. They talked about TV shows, stumping each other with quotes from pop culture, complained about C-rations, and then missed them as their supply ended and they had to rely more on stolen Jaffa jerky.

And they slept. Healed and slept and waited. Kept cleaning wounds until his left leg was healed up. By the fourth week, his right leg had turned various shades of purple and yellowish green, ironically looking worse to him than it had when it had just been swollen and purple. J.C. assured him that it was healing nicely. 

Pointedly, he said, "And you know this because?"

"I am wise in the way of assault and battery, grasshopper."

"I'll take your word for it."

By the fifth week, he was managing to hobble around a little. He tested it daily, thinking about the weight it had to hold so they could get on board a Goa'uld ship.

"Don't push it, Daniel," J.C. warned him.

He said simply, plaintatively, "I want to go home."

"Many plans have been ruined by lack of patience."

"Don't lecture me!" he snapped suddenly. "I'm not a six year old! I don't have to be told everything." He winced at his own tone, immediately sorry. "J.C.—"

She didn't look at him, collecting her P-90 on the way out.

He debated following her, but there was no way he would be able to keep up with that angry stride, and calling after her would just draw down any nearby patrol.

She was only gone an hour, back well before the full heat of the day. As she walked in, he said, right away, "I'm sorry."

A half-hearted grin and she chucked his shoulder. "I'm going nuts too, Jackson. And you can't even get out to take a walk. I'm amazed we've gone so long without biting each other's heads off."

Already forgotten. That was an O'Neill for you. He felt an intense pang of homesickness, the desire to be with his friend, his coworkers, to be involved in his routine. And knew she had to be feeling it just as much.

As they stretched out in their parts of the shade, waiting to doze off for their afternoon siesta, it occurred to him to ask, "You miss your husband?"

"Bernie?"

"Is that his name?"

A little laugh. "He cooked a mean steak. I miss that."

"So do you. That is," he amended, "if you cook anything like Jack."

"That pretty much makes old Bernie redundant, doesn't it?"

"That why you're divorced?"

A sigh. "Bernie. . . wanted things."

"Like what?"

"Look, Jackson, even in my world, girls don't get to play in the boys' sandbox very often. Those that do, we make choices."

"I'm sorry," he apologized for the second time that day. "I don't mean to pry."

"I know. And I'm not sorry about my choices, so don't you be. You think I look back and yearn for children I'll never have, and that makes you a little sad for me. In the meantime, all I'm thinking about is my next steak dinner, and whether I want cake or pie for desert."

He had to laugh at that. The same, yet different, these glimpses letting him see his friend more clearly. "Thanks. Now all I can think about is pie."

Silence. Amenable silence. And then, "Cream or fruit?"

"Peach."

"Mm."

"Hot."

"Hm."

"With a light, flaky crust that just melts in your mouth."

"You're torturing me here, Jackson."

"A la mode."

She threw a stick of Jaffa jerky at him.

Two days later, J.C. didn't come back from her scouting venture within her usual couple hours. Daniel didn't start worrying until nearly noon, when the desert heat would have turned the sands into a broiler. He used a weathered piece of wood as an impromptu cane and limped to the edge of the crevasse, squinting into the sheer sunlight, seeing, of course, nothing.

Seeing nothing and able to do nothing. He didn't even know which direction the gate was, or how far.

Leg throbbing, he lay back down in the shade. He knew better than to go out there in the heat of the day. At dusk, he told himself, he would have to decide what to do. There might be tracks that would give him some clue.

He was struggling with getting his boot on over his still swollen foot when he heard her coming back. Setting the shoe aside, grabbing his stick, he managed to get to his feet by the time she walked into view.

One cheek cut and swollen, J.C. shook her head when he started forward, unbuckling her vest. "Just help me get it off."

He was struck then by the familiar odor of burnt flesh and Kevlar. She had taken a staff blast between shoulder blades. Daniel helped her peel off the sticky, stained vest, tattered shirt, and bra, used his P-90 flashlight to get a closer look. She'd been hit high on her back, the armor taking the brunt of it, but staff fire through Kevlar was still hot enough to bubble skin underneath.

He used the last of their astringent to clean it, applied burn cream and one of the last of their bandages. They were out of oral antibiotics, and Tylenol was the only painkiller they had left.

J.C. didn't offer explanation as she started the fire. She dug out his spare t-shirt because it was a looser fit than her own, peeled some Jaffa jerky and managed a few bites.

He didn't ask what had happened because it wasn't urgent. She wouldn't have come back yet if doing so would have brought the enemy. That just wasn't her way. Anything else could wait until she didn't look so pale.

When she put the half finished jerky back in their supplies and laid down, he joined her, setting his glasses in reach, lying between her and the fire, offering the warmth of his back. She put an arm around his chest, twined legs with his, leaving her back open to the cooler night air, hoping it would numb her wound.

When her hand fisted in his shirt, Daniel could only guess how little the Tylenol was helping. He lay awake, aware when her grip eventually relaxed. Her sleep was fitful, interrupted every time she started to adjust her position, because there was no other way for her to lay without trapping heat in the burn.

Morning found them both stiff from the cold and having lain in the same position for so long.

As they moved around to get joints in working order, Daniel lit up the fire, heating water for coffee. He could see where her wound had wept through bandages, staining the back of the shirt. Also visible in daylight was bruising on her right forearm, darkened smudges where someone had locked her in a vicious grip, and the bruising on her face.

J.C. accepted an offered cup, took a moment to let the steam fill her sinuses. "A guard got the drop on me," she said finally.

He sipped, waiting, watching her over the rim of his mug. Looked at the purpled side of her face, the clotted cut that was going to scar. Felt a sudden urge to strike out at whoever had done it, to hit them back with every ounce of killing strength he had. Irrational, he thought absently, since he could barely walk and the Jaffa was probably already dead.

"Jaffa numbers doubled in size yesterday," she was saying. "Two camps. I decided to risk getting a closer look." Which might have meant more if she understood much more Goa'ould than, _Jaffa kree!_ Tapping her watch, "It gave out on me." She had gotten too used to it working and had taken it for granted. One moment, the world was that off color tint, the next, she had known she was exposed. At least she had some warning before the staff blast had side-swiped her.

"Did they get a good look at you?"

"The dead one did." The sentry's staff fire got the attention of others. She hadn't had a lot of time, and hadn't dared risk using her P-90, which would have even more loudly announced who she was. She had managed to play dead, an easy enough feat after the force sent her sprawling, her tac'vest smoking. Waited for the Jaffa to close, then twisted hips, skin across her back protesting with the stretch, sweeping the back of his knees with her shin to take the legs out from under him. "If I hadn't gotten the watch to work again, the rest would have, too." She wouldn't have had any choice but to cut loose with the gun obscured beneath her, getting into a firefight she couldn't have won alone inside an enemy's perimeter. A whack to the watch on the side of the nearest storage crate, some cursing as the sentry came down on top of her, his elbow armor impacting her cheek, and her view had gone all tinty again.

The only edge she had was getting her k-bar in hand, and the fact that the guard had no close combat weapon at the ready. Staffs were great for shooting and pummeling, but land on somebody inside arm's reach and a staff was suddenly very much in the way. The guy had to lever up his own weight before he could haul back and hit her, and she had enough leverage to wedge an arm into his elbow to keep him down. Blessing Teal'c mentally—back in her own reality—for all the times he had worked out with her, so she knew a bit about the weak places in Jaffa armor. She managed to scrape knife tip blindly up her enemy's side, using the man's own weight to drive it under the carapace just above the waist. Easing it in across surcoat from the side to the front between hip and ribs, worming the blade toward the opening in chainmail for his symbiote pouch. His hand had closed on her forearm in a crushing grip, but the tip had already hit home. His eyes had widened, face twisting with that paralyzing pain of larval Goa'ould blood searing his gut.

"I got lucky with a knife," she told Daniel. _I got lucky and he got dead. _Lying there in plain sight, phasing time greatly shortened by the weight of the man pinning her as his fellow sentries arrived. Not a lot of time to roll him off, to find her feet. Forget hauling the carcass anywhere. "Shot him with his own staff over the wound." Hopefully, Jaffa didn't have their own CSI team, or bother to look beyond the obvious. "Jaffa are so trusting of each other and all, I'm thinking from the ruckus the others raised that the other camp might have been accused."

"Never hurts to sow a little chaos," Daniel commented.

"There were too many of them stirred up, so I had to go to ground. Found a spot among their storage crates." The body had been a distraction, but caused a doubling of the guard and a search. During the heat of the day, though, the Jaffa had sought shade. "By then,I had to wait for it to cool down a little." When the guard had started stirring again, she had taken her chance with the watch. Sprinting, knowing there was so little time left. Then she had lain in wait, looking back over a sand dune, watching for any search parties.

Her eyes moved to where Daniel had left his boots. "Sorry I took so long."

He wasn't going to apologize for that. "Let that be a lesson to you. I expect you in by curfew, young lady."

A snort. No point in chewing him out for even considering coming after her—there were limits to the kind of orders you could give a man. Besides, hobbling around on that leg would have been its own reward. "Think I finally figured out why they're here: some kind of Goa'uld swap meet. You could probably tell who is who, but all I could tell is they've set up ranges for live weapons demos."

"What are they demonstrating?"

"Some kind of canon. Luckily, pointed the other way."

"Maybe that's what they were waiting for."

"Yeah." She picked up a piece of Jaffa jerky, sighed, finally took a bite. Chewing was long, hard labor this morning.

After breakfast, she bared her back to let him change out dressings. Turned the shirt around backwards to put a cleaner spot over fresh bandages. Neither of them wanted to spare water for washing clothes; that much would have to do for now. J.C. counted out the remaining tabs of Tylenol, took two, and then spread out her thinsulate on a flat part of sand and stretched out on her belly.

Daniel cleaned out their cups and settled in to play solitaire with his flimsy paper cards.

J.C. had just managed to doze off when their mid-morning peace was abruptly broken by the distant crack of weapon fire. The pair went still, ears straining for signs that the weapons were pointed their direction. The rumbling and booming continued throughout the morning, but nothing hit their way.

"Nice," Daniel commented.

"Kinda like thunder." Hammond would want to send some munitions specialists to take a look at the results, too, if the Jaffa ever left.

"We could pretend it's rain."

"I'm game if you are."

He offered her a smile.

She started to return it, winced at the pull in her cheek.

The weapons fire ended before the heat of the day, then resumed the next morning for a few more hours. J.C. laid low throughout that day and the next. Her skin looked slightly improved when Daniel changed dressings again. At least, he thought, they still had burn cream, and if they didn't have oral or injectible antibiotics, there was some in the ointment itself.

There was no canon fire the third morning. They could only guess that the demonstration might be over.

Wordlessly, J.C. slid on Daniel's Kevlar vest. Customized to his fit, it was heavier than she was used to, and it obviously chaffed and rubbed across her back.

"We have water for another day," he said as he helped adjust straps. "You're the one that said impatience leads plans astray. Wait until tomorrow."

To his surprise, she removed the vest and stayed.

She didn't ask him to, but he rationed water, keeping half of what was left in reserve. Just in case.

He felt her shivering at his back that night, felt the fever heat that followed. She slept the next day, making no move to go out. Silently regretting that she hadn't gone before the fever weakened her.

The next morning, despite the fact that the vest didn't feel any better pressing on the burn, J.C. geared up and went scouting. Came back pale and exhausted with refilled canteens.

At least, Daniel thought that night, her fever seemed to abate.

Two more days, and she had to gear up again.

And just as suddenly as they had arrived, with no apparent rhyme or reason, the Jaffa were gone. Just like that. No sign left of them except their buried campfires, buried lines of latrines, and the scorch marks left by their weapons.

Back at camp, as night fell, a worn looking J.C. offered Daniel a hand up. "Let's go home."

"What time is it," he wondered as he dialed the gate, "back home?"

Consulting her infamous watch, she said, "Two in the morning. I'd say the gate deck will probably be clear."

Back at SGC, the klaxon blared. The night sergeant started upright, took a moment to register that yes, the gate was activated, before he made the announcement, checking contact telemetry.

"This is Sierra Gulf one-zed one-niner," came J.C.'s voice over the radio. "Come in, Sierra Gulf Cappuccino."

"Copy that, Sierra Gulf one-zero one-niner," he radioed back. "Stand by." Confirming IDC, he made a phone call, then patched the sleepy general through to the radio contact. "Sierra Gulf one zero one niner, go ahead."

J.C. popped off. "Somebody ask for a wake up call?"

Instantly alert, Hammond said, "What's your status, 101?"

"We'll take a table for two. I heard Janet makes a nice glass of ice tea."

Jackspeak. Hammond knew better than to expect standard communications. But the message was understood, that the pair of them weren't incoming hot, and if they both needed medical attention, she was feeling up to tweaking him a little bit. It was so good to hear from them at all, he heard himself returning, "I'll wake up the barrista and see if we can find you a table."

"Copy that, boss."

Hammond gave the order for the sergeant to open the iris and get a medical team. "Yes, sir," said the duty sergeant. "SG-101, you are good to come home."

"Amen." J.C. threw packs through first, and then went back to get under Daniel's arm, helping him hobble the last few steps.

It wasn't Frasier who met them in the gate room, but the doctor must have left instructions to be called because she arrived after showers were taken and the on-duty medic had gotten them into hospital gowns and beds, preliminary work done.

Daniel's leg was going to need corrective surgery, which Frasier scheduled at the Air Force Academy Hospital for the next morning. J.C. on the other hand, she took one look at and sent straight in to the operating room. The vest, the weight of the packs, bearing Daniel's weight had all served to rub the burn the wrong way, in addition to the infection that still raged in the weeping wound. The doctor told her, "Two words: skin graft."

"Goody," J.C. said tiredly. "Something new."

"You don't," Janet pointed out dryly, "have to try everything."

Still living on base, Teal'c was Daniel's first in a long line of visitors. Word spread, of course, and base members dropped in as they came on duty. Even the cook stopped by, asking if Daniel wanted anything special for breakfast. Dani landed like a meteorite on him, hugging him fiercely. "You!" she punched his shoulder. "What the hell, a hole?!"

"Ow!" He rubbed the spot her fist had found. "I didn't do it on purpose."

The grapevine was in good working order, because visitors drifted back through when J.C.'s bed returned to the slot next to Jackson's for post-op recovery.

With her sprawled out asleep on her belly, the lighting was not kind to the mark on her face. Daniel looked over at the healing scar, realized he was less angry about it. A little. Maybe. When her eyes cracked open, he gave her a smile. She made a tired thumbs up gesture.

When he dropped in, Jack said, "I saved the Simpsons for you."

J.C. made a victory fist. "You. Are. A god."

"And I drank all your Guinness."

"You bastard."

The visitor she was dreading most showed up mid-morning. Just her luck it was after Jackson had been shipped out, leaving her to face the music alone. "General."

"At ease, Colonel," Hammond said when she started to push herself up. Not that any O'Neill was in the habit of leaping to attention in his presence.

"Sir." She eased herself back down onto the bed.

He cut right to the chase. "I understand why you did what you did."

"Sir—"

"We'll discuss it when you're better, Colonel. For now, I want you to know, it goes a long way with me that you used it to bring one of my people home."

The tension drained from her. It was one thing to get an ass chewing, another when Hammond resorted to such devious tactics as compassion, or forgiveness. Ruthless bastard. That had definitely sounded something like forgiveness. Must be the stuff Janet was feeding her for the pain that made her mouth gum up. "Thank you, sir."

"Get some rest. I'll expect a full report on my desk by the end of tomorrow."

"I'll get right on that."

He paused in the doorway to look back. J.C. was already asleep.

93

93


	5. Chapter 5

Part 6. Redeal.

The next afternoon, J.C. left three things in Hammond's office: her report on PL8-236, her watch, and her permission for him to send Dani off planet without her. "Sir," she said, "I apologize that two of these things were so long overdue."

Hammond put a mark in her file over the withholding of the watch. The matter was not spoken of again.

For the first time since SGC's inception, Hammond didn't have to wait for all members of his first contact team to recover before he could resume full operations: Dani could take Daniel Jackson's place on SG-1 for a while.

A week later, SG-1 made contact with the Grell.

"They're squid heads," Jack said.

"I told you they were slimy," J.C. returned.

"I thought that was a metaphor."

"I'm impressed," Dani said on her way by. "You know the word 'metaphor'."

"Don't tell anyone," Jack called after her.

J.C. looked at him. "Don't want the geek reputation to get out?"

"Why take the risk?"

As an honored trading partner, Jack finally got his watch, although it lacked the ultra-coolness of Samuel's cobbled together phase device, which was now somewhere in the bowels of R&D. Oh well.

He got a few other handy things, too, all tediously negotiated for in writing by Danielle. The Grell didn't have a verbal language, at least one that humans could speak or understand. Instead, they used a more complex written form of their nomadic code to communicate. This time, knowing what she was doing, Danielle could skip the painstaking effort required from her first encounter and go straight to laying out who they were and what they wanted.

One of the things they couldn't buy was access to the Grell subspace network for interstellar navigation technology, which was how the watch knew where it was. J.C. had warned Hammond that in their reality, when Dani had asked about it the first time, the Grell had reacted as if insulted, threatening their whole relationship until apologies were made—expensive apologies.

As Samuel had explained, the network was out there rather in the same way Earth communications were; you only needed the proper receiver and anyone could access it. In fact, he suspected that was what the Goa'ould ships navigated by. However, if SG-1 could negotiate for power sources instead, he thought the SGC R&D teams should be able to reverse engineer access from one of the watches.

So, on Jack's first foray into the dealing with the Squid Heads, his big prize was the equivalent of a box of batteries. It wasn't as exciting as, say, a gross of Jaffa grenades, but it was giving the geeks—including two by the name of Carter—no end of wet dreams.

"These are very similar to the power crystals for the Goa'ould ships," Samantha noted.

"That's what makes me think," Samuel explained, "that Grell tech and the technology the Goa'ould use are closely related. In fact, I suspect the Goa'ould power crystals may be an older generation of the Grell-type power supply."

"I bet these have to be grown."

He grinned at her. "Our Dr. Lee back home had started some primitive crystal growth from a hybrid of the two types. What say we get permission to escort these babies over to his lab and see how your Dr. Lee does with a few suggestions?"

_Oh yeah_, Jack thought, watching the Wonder Twins take off with that little box, _wet dreams galore._

Dani personally delivered the most valuable part of that first contact to Hammond: the date and place of their next Grell swap meet. In the next two weeks, the nomads would be attempting to procure the items on the list Dani had given them. Hammond already knew that the products, like the Grell themselves, were a hit or miss proposition, that their new trading partners might or might not be able to procure what they asked for. Fortunately, J.C.'s team had already given them a list of things they were most consistently able to deliver, and so he had high confidence for getting his science teams something to look forward to.

Another point for Hammond's score card, as J.C. suspected, was sending a science team back to PL8-236 to garner what they could on the Goa'ould canon ballistics. Even limited intelligence on the enemy was an asset, and this was no exception.

From compression in the areas of sand reduced to glass, the Majors Carter estimated the destructive force the equivalent of small nukes. While most impact points were within five miles of origin, the farthest markings were around a modest eighteen miles. Accuracy was difficult to assess, as there were no remains of targets that might have been set up, and they only had J.C.'s best guess on what might be their rate of fire, which she had to admit was dubious. There had been no way to tell from her hiding place if the canons were going off in sequence, simultaneously, or when one was fired repeatedly. Still, it took only six of the cannon two days to lay waste to an area the size of New York City.

"They're a bit bigger than the portable beam canons we've encountered," Jack noted, referring to the one man guns the Jaffa equivalent of the anti-aircraft weapons in the gate room.

"Looks like," J.C. hazarded, "they're trying to get something on the ground that can do as much damage as their mother ships."

"They're better off with a mobile platform," Samantha pointed out.

"You can't exactly keep a mothership around to discipline one of those pesky rebel colonies," Jack countered. "And while motherships can hit the broad side of a city from space, their pinpoint accuracy is crap." Which, until you put someone like Teal'c on the trigger, was generally true of any Goa'ould weapon. Not every Jaffa had the potential to become someone's Prime.

"I'd sure like to have one of these to play with," J.C. muttered.

"Wouldn't we all, Colonel," Hammond agreed. Yes, they had missiles of their own, but they were looking at the results of beam cannons, not projectiles that had to be reloaded. _If we could only figure out the power supply._ He stood, breaking up the meeting.

Not yet abandoning her seat, Dani tapped a page of the report. "Jack. About the tattoos on the Jaffa you drew. Is this supposed to be a duck?"

As always, Jack himself did a double take, but it wasn't him Dani was talking to.

"No," J.C. replied.

Pointedly, Dani said, "I can't think of any ancient Egyptian deities symbolized by a duck."

"It's not a duck, okay? I didn't get a real close look."

Samuel tilted his head over Dani's shoulder. "I thought it was a bunny."

"It's not a bunny," J.C. protested. "Suddenly everyone's an art critic."

"I wouldn't call this art." Accusingly, Dani pointed at the page full of doodles J.C. had accumulated during their briefing. "I know you can draw."

Jack leaned over for a look. "The U.S.S. Nimitz?" At J.C.'s nod, he touched a scribble on the page. "Dead giveaway."

J.C. tapped his paper. "And I see you did a nice rendition of the Apollo 7 capsule."

"Thanks. It's the symmetry that's a challenge."

A sound of disgust from the archaeologist. "The point is, you can do better than a loopy bunny-duck when you put your mind to it. And what's this supposed to be?" Dani tapped the second scrawl. "Antlers?"

J.C. straightened. "No. I got a better look at that guy, though." His blood had soaked her BDUs. "It kind of reminded me of a cross between a basket and Worf's sword." At Dani's blank look, "You know, the klingon from Star Trek? The Next Generation?"

Dani looked from one O'Neill to the other. "Like I'm known for watching TV?"

Of course if it wasn't a thousand years old, Dani's knowledge was a cultural wasteland. "It had four prongs," J.C. explained, holding up V-fingers on either side of her head, "two on each end, and maybe some downward points."

"That's at least four less prongs than you drew on here."

Teal'c re-examined the oval. "I suspect you have drawn the symbol for Ba'al."

Dani gave J.C. one last glare. "Thank you, Teal'c. Someone around here can be helpful, at least."

The Jaffa tilted his head. "I am glad I could be of service, DanielleJackson."

"Yes, indeed, Ba'al, and the god of bunny-ducks."

J.C. pushed away from the table. "I'll work on it, all right?" Not that there was anything she could work on. And it did not look like a bunny or a duck, damnit.

After his surgery, Daniel had six weeks, with physical therapy, before he could return to the field. During his convalescence, he had the pleasure of sitting in Jack's comfy chair on beer and pizza nights and letting his friends fetch for him. At odd times, he found eyes wandering over to J.C., seeking her out wherever she was. A habit, he supposed, from their time together, when she had been the only human contact he had. Seeing that scar on her face, thinking about how irrational it still made him feel.

Once, as if feeling his gaze, Jacqueline's eyes found his. The way he was looking at her with that Jackson intensity. _That kid and I just came through a rough trip. Nothing else to read into it. _Nothing else acceptable to read into it. She smiled; he came back from wherever his thoughts had been, returning it.

She was back in the field within three weeks.

Six weeks later, J.C. was still living at Jack's place.

With anyone else, that might have ended in homicide. But, Jack had to admit, after being stuck off planet for a week, he kind of liked coming home to a house that didn't have that creepy, empty feel. And they never argued about which game to watch. If the two O'Neills occasionally engaged in a passive aggressive battle of wills over who could leave the house littered with beer bottles and empty takeout containers the longest, well, eventually a Jackson or one of the Carters would show up and clear out the worst of it for everyone else's sake.

But then came The Bike.

Jack had known Jacqueline was going out to get her own wheels. He just hadn't imagined that she would be so—_so irresponsible_ as to go by the Harley shop. Motorcycles were not exactly practical for most Colorado weather. And it wasn't just any Harley she bought, either, but his dream machine: a tricked out red and black 1957 replica Hog.

A freaking _classic._

When she brought it home, she handed him his own helmet and asked if he'd like to take it out for a spin.

There was nothing like the sensation of that low Harley growl between his knees. Out on the highway, he might have accidentally on purpose kicked it up a little past the speed limit—like, maybe in the range his truck only dreamed about—just to see what it felt like. The Beast floated down the road effortlessly, as close to wings as being on the ground was ever going to get.

_Sweet._

"Enjoying a little wish fulfillment while you're here?" he wondered as he handed her back the key.

"It's T.O.D. to you when I leave," J.C. told him, ignoring the jibe. "You can decide whether to keep up payments or sell."

Wistfully, "May you be here just long enough to pay it off."

"Maybe," she reconsidered, "Hammond would let me take it with me."

Quickly, "I'll consider it rent."

"Oh, and any day it's like, sleeting, or below freezing, feel free to borrow it."

Yeah, right, like she wouldn't be sitting next to him in his truck on those days.

He was really touched his next three day weekend when she asked if he wanted to take it solo up to his cabin. The thing barely had three hundred miles on it. "In exchange for what?" he wanted to know. "A little thing like, say, my soul?"

She smiled wryly. "Just thought you might like the ride. But, you know, if you really want to take the truck instead, that's okay."

There was nothing like floating all the way to Minnesota and back, even if she was just letting him break it in. Behind his bike glasses, he couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

Part 7. Ante Up.

The week he was cleared to go back to the field, Daniel was working late his first night back, trying to catch up to reports from his various departments, when J.C. dropped by his office.

He mistook her for Jack at first, in the corner of his eye, because the older man was prone to standing in the door frame the way she did, only half in the room, as if undecided on whether to come in or not. That usually meant Jack had stopped in for no reason and was obliquely looking for an invitation to converse. "Something on your mind?" Daniel finally looked up, realized it wasn't who he thought it was. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

A toe touching the bottom of the door frame. A tap. "I was wondering if you wanted to go get some dinner." Tap-tap. "Maybe at that sushi place Jack never wants to go."

Friday already? "Ah, sure. I don't think it's my turn to pick, though. What's everybody else want?"

"I-ah, hadn't asked. But." She finally looked up. "We can find out. Yeah, we should find out."

And it struck him, then, that she hadn't intended to ask anyone else. "Oh." As in, maybe a date. A date? The thought kicked his pulse up a notch. "You mean, just—"

A thumb pointing back over her shoulder, taking a half step back, "I think the Carters are about done—"

Unbidden, the memory of time spent in the desert, her neck, the comfort of lying beside her, came back to him. "Yes," he cut her off.

"What?"

"Yes." Before she talked herself out of it. "Just us is fine." _Just us_. "Yes."

"Oh." Looking back down at her shoes, as if it hadn't occurred to her that he might take her up on it, and she had no idea what to do next. "Okay then."

"You want me to drive?"

A wince. J.C. had ridden only once with Dani, back in their own world. She was in no hurry to repeat the near death experience. "You wanna double up on my bike? I've got a spare helmet."

"I've heard rumors about that bike."

That earned him a wicked little grin. "Have you, now?"

"I'd love a ride. When do you want to go?"

"I have to hit the showers first. In an hour?"

"I'll be ready."

Daniel shut his computer down, not risking losing track of time. He didn't want to make her wait, to give her another chance to change her mind. He headed down to the lockers to change into street clothes, decided it was time for the ten weeks worth of beard he had been ignoring to go, too.

He hadn't seen her jacket and chaps yet. Leather on Jack probably would have looked like a pitiful mid-life crisis, but, Daniel had to admit, it suited J.C. As did the silver in her hair. At some point in the last few weeks, she had dyed out the last of the red and added a little black to the roots, probably so she didn't shock everyone by going iron all at once. He debated commenting on one or both, but thinking of the shy toe-tapping she had done at his office, he thought better of it.

She wasn't above comments on his personal grooming, though. "You ditched the beard," she noticed, handing him a helmet.

"You preferred it?" he wondered.

No, she hadn't really liked it. Smooth suited him. Fastening helmet in place, she said indifferently, "Eh. It's your face. Do what you want with it." Kick-started the Harley, the engine purring to life, filling the parking garage with a respectable rumble.

Daniel took the spot behind her, the bike settling a little under his weight. Leaned close, uncertain where to put his hands until she placed them on her waist.

He didn't know anything more about motorcycles than what he had garnered from his friends. He knew the rides Jack had taken had put a peculiar gleam in his friend's eye. The Carters had discovered a rare personality difference between them, as Samuel thought they were death traps and had refused to have anything to do with it, but Samantha had been thrilled last weekend when J.C. had let her take it out. From those breathy comments Sam had made, Daniel knew the Harley had some kind of mystical balance, and that it cornered like a dream. If he closed his eyes, he did almost feel like he was floating, somewhere, in some different kind of world, while the Colorado night air was sharp against his freshly shaven face.

They arrived at the restaurant almost too soon.

"I didn't think you liked sushi," Daniel said as they were seated. "Jack doesn't."

"Really, Daniel, we spend all week out in the field eating MREs and whatever bizarre insectoid-armadillo stuff the locals offer, when we get home, we're kinda craving the good old American steak type things. Look," J.C. pointed to the hibachi steak on the menu, "a good old American steak type thing."

"And I thought you might be willing to try something new."

"Medium rare sounds just new enough for me."

He smiled. Still very much Jack.

Because he wasn't driving, he ordered himself a wine. J.C. had a beer. They couldn't talk about work, not in such a public place, and they had covered a lot of odds and ends in their time together in the desert. She asked about his growing up in Egypt, and he started talking about his childhood, about traveling with his parents, about learning to write cuneiform in the sand. When he found himself talking about the quality of sand from different places, how different Egyptian felt compared to that on Abydos, he realized he had been talking without interruption for quite some time. That J.C. had managed to eat almost all of her meal while he still had half to go.

Daniel cut himself off abruptly. Took a swallow of his wine. "You shouldn't let me go on so long. Jack usually cuts me off. No, actually, he always cuts me off. I think I've come to expect it, to keep me in check."

J.C. poked the noodles she wasn't going to eat with her fork. A shrug. "I—um. Kind of like it. The sound of your voice. Actually. It's—ah." She cleared her throat, took a swig of beer. "I missed it. Your talking thing."

A smile spread slowly across his face. "My talking thing. Have you actually heard a word I said?"

A pause where she looked like a kid unexpectedly called on by the teacher. "There was, um, sand. And some Egypt stuff. Oh, and the thing about your mom, making you a box with sand in it—like they use in Chinese temples, you said—so you could learn to write. I liked that part."

Okay, so she had been listening. Still, it was someone else's turn. "You talk for a while. I'm going to eat."

"Oh, you know," she waved the bottle, "talking's your thing, not mine."

Around a mouthful, "Uh-huh."

"That's what I do—not talk."

"Hm."

"As in, I say nothing interesting, and you get bored. Then you talk anyway. Remember? We did this back on—in the desert."

"Okay."

A long pause. "Your interrogation techniques are insidious."

"Are they working?"

"I can so out not-talk you, Dr. Jackson."

"You want to try a piece of eel?"

"Resorting to poison so soon?"

He stuck a piece on her plate, just in case. "It's cooked."

"That's what they want you to believe."

He watched her sit there for a while, finish her beer, poke at the noodles some more, then poke at the piece of unagi roll. She finally picked off a little bit of fish and tasted it.

"My god," he was unable to resist, "you actually tried something new. Wait until I tell Jack."

"You wouldn't."

"You will never live this down."

Defiantly, she took the whole piece, chewed it slowly. Swallowed. "You have no evidence that I did any such thing."

"Wasn't bad, was it?"

She actually liked it, but she'd be damned if she gave him the satisfaction. "Well, I didn't die."

"I'm so glad I still have a ride home."

"Sweet bike, isn't it?"

"I'm no connoisseur, but it was nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah."

"You think my hog is _nice_? You are so calling a cab."

"What?"

"Tricked out classic hogs, even replicas, are not _nice, _Dr. Jackson. They are loud. They are hot. They are breath-takingly awesome. They pull up a piece of the highway and spread it out before you like they own it. They are not _nice._"

"Wow. You _can_ talk."

"Hope you brought cab fair, smarty pants."

He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward on elbows. "You're right. I was so stunned by your Harley that I just couldn't think. My language skills abandoned me. It's gorgeous. It's beautiful. It is one sweet, muscular piece of bike. It is—it is beyond my means to describe in English." He switched to French and said all the same things.

She sniffed, understanding none of what he was saying, which might have been a recitation of his laundry list for all she knew.

He put his hands together. "Can you forgive me?"

"Maybe."

"I'm begging. Do I need to get down on my knees?" He started to push away from the table.

"Oh, for crying out loud. Fine. Just don't let my bike hear you say anything like 'nice', or you're walking home, buster."

"Desert?"

Yes, there was a Jack Friendly Desert on the menu. Apparently trying wasabi or red bean flavored ice cream didn't count as something new by O'Neill standards.

Then the meal was officially over, and they were putting on their respective helmets. Time to return Daniel to his part of the world and head back to her own. J.C. didn't quite feel like doing that yet, though. "You ever been up on Fairview at night?" she asked. "When someone else was driving?"

"Ah, no."

"Great skyline. A little out of the way, though. Puts you back at base for your jeep pretty late."

"Fairview takes us pretty close to my apartment."

"Does it?"

Thinking, "We have brunch at Jack's on Sunday, don't we?"

"Yeah."

"I can hitch a ride back to base from Dani." He wasn't ready for the night to be over yet, he realized. "Show me the skyline. You can drop me at home after."

She was right. He didn't try to tell her that the view was breathtaking, though; subtlety in words would have simply been lost on the wind. Sailing along behind her, he just had to turn his head to drink it in, to let the sensation of floating along and the view take his breath away. Turning his head gave him a different angle on her neck than before, too. He could just barely reach it with his face. Impulsively, he pressed his lips to the bare spot he could reach.

Shoulders stiffened against him.

Daniel drew back. For a moment, he had forgotten. This had almost felt like a date. Had he read her so completely wrong?

The rest of the ride passed tensely as he pointed directions, turns to his building, then his parking spot. The Harley engine went silent. Daniel fumbled with the chin strap as he got off, but the apology lodged in his throat. He wasn't quite sure how to make it sound right, or if he wanted it to.

Helmet slid into hands, but J.C. didn't dismount. "Look, Daniel," she said before he could start, "this wasn't a good idea."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I—uh, should have kept it safe. Asked others to come with us."

So he hadn't read her wrong after all.

"We work together," she was saying. "It's conduct unbecoming on my part, in the very least."

"J.C.—"

"No, Daniel. Before we do something that will make things weird for us, let's just nip this thing in the bud and go on."

So. She had thought about it enough to think that there was actually something that needed to be nipped in the bud. No, he hadn't read her wrong at all. And he knew, in that moment, how very much he didn't want to nip it in the bud. "I'd like you to come inside."

"I just told you why that won't happen."

"You just told me why you thought it shouldn't." He leaned closer, not quite able to see her face in the semi-darkness. He wished his spot had better lighting. There was no telling what expressions he was missing at the moment, the volumes gone unspoken mere inches away. Lowering his voice so she had to be still to hear him, "I'm not in the air force, so it's not fraternization."

When she didn't draw away, he whispered with that same Jackson intensity that had brought stubborn alien governments to their knees, going straight for the O'Neill streak of overprotectiveness that really held her at bay, letting her know he understood the consequences. "I don't care if you're not here tomorrow."

"That's not good for you."

"Look, if losing Shaur'i taught me anything, it's that every moment counts." And this was the first date he had felt like going on since—and he had liked it. It wasn't all young and spicy like courting his wife had been; it had been more . . . comfortable. "If that's all we have, I want it. I'll take it. An hour, a day, a week, a month—whatever it is, I'll cherish it, because it's time with you in it, and that makes it infinitely more precious than time without." When she didn't say anything, he breathed her name with the French emphasis, _"Jacqueline."_

The sound of his mouth stroking her name and she couldn't think. Grasping at some straw of resistance, "I'm twice your age."

"Wow. You're an incredibly well preserved seventy."

"What?!"

Still speaking softly, "You're the one who said you're twice my age. I can only imagine how hot you'll be at eighty."

"Okay, I am not seventy."

He leaned closer. She still didn't pull away. Closer. Close enough to feel her breath against his lips, he breathed her name again. _"Jacqueline." _ When she didn't move, he risked making soft contact with her mouth.

She shuddered at the touch. This was not fair. She couldn't think. She needed to be going now—there were some very good reasons, damnit—but he'd used French on her. Insidious bastard. And she so very much liked the sound of his voice. So she let him kiss her when she shouldn't have, opening to that soft mouth and that first explorative contact.

And decided, yes, she very much wanted to get off her bike. Jacqueline pulled away, put down the kickstand, stowed glasses under her helmet.

Daniel took her hand when she dismounted. Boldly, mischievously, she fumbled in his pocket for his keys, copping a feel, teasing him through the fabric. From the gleam in his eye, he was completely savoring his victory as she let them into his building.

But, contrary to what she expected, they didn't have sex.

There was nothing in the way he touched her that was so casual. Hands moved slowly, deliberately, savoring texture and shape, carefully peeling layers of clothing as if he were revealing some rare and precious artifact. Where his fingers found bare skin, his mouth was soon to follow, touching her with lips, teeth, tongue, breath, teasing and tasting and making her shiver. Starting with ears and moving down, suckling throat, breasts, mouthing her belly, easing her back on his bed and finally tasting her sex.

She heard her own breathing change, unfamiliar sounds working out of her throat, need building as that mouth softly, gently coaxed her to climax. Once. Twice. Daniel finally broke contact to fumble in a drawer, crinkled a condom wrapper, declined her offer to help, and then that mouth was back between her legs, bringing her so very nearly close a third time before he drew back, coming over her, easing himself into her.

She heard herself whimper for it. She said his name, touched his face, tasted her own buttery sex on his mouth. Just the feel of him moving inside her was making her come again. She raised hips, needing him deeper, harder, shocked by her own begging sounds, surprised by the rippling heat that was sweeping up from that sweet contact, vaguely aware of his gasping as he lost it, too.

Sweet. It was so sweet.

No, they hadn't just had sex. There was nothing about it that left her with any illusions: that had been lovemaking.

He knew she wasn't sticking around, that was the plan. He knew this thing between them wasn't forever. Yet he had still treated her as if he were making a forever with her.

Maybe that was the only way Daniel Jackson knew.

J.C. stroked the back of his neck, then the curve of his back.

He shifted, moving his weight to the side, so he could prop his head on his hand and look at her.

Sleepy and sated. Although it seemed like ages since she had seen it on a companion, she knew that look from a man. Jacqueline touched his face, lightly traced his jaw, those lips that had done such kindnesses to her.

A little smile from him. He caught her thumb with his teeth, touched it with his tongue, opened slightly to let her explore his mouth. Sucked lightly.

Okay, that was not the smile of a man who was only interested in going to sleep. Well, she thought as she pushed him onto his back, if he didn't have the sense to fall asleep while he was ahead, far be it from her not to take advantage of him.

Daniel woke alone in the bed the next morning. As he fumbled for glasses, found boxers, a t-shirt, he wondered if she had simply left. If she had woken to her own internal recriminations and chosen to completely avoid by bailing. Things could be so very different in the light of day.

He could handle it if she had quietly slipped out, he thought a little sadly. If that was all she was capable of giving him. He could wait to see her tomorrow at Jack's, see what kind of fallout there would be.

But, no, he realized as he stepped into the hallway, she hadn't left at all.

There she was in the living room, pacing, looking over his book cases, touching things. Reading spines, tracing imprinted leather journals, fingering the curve of a three thousand year old piece of pottery he liked. Not picking it up, or juggling it, or flipping it around like it was an O'Neill hackey-sack, but stroking it lightly, exploring the texture of the glaze in a way he did sometimes.

_She had stayed._

As if that wasn't enough to cause a little trip in his chest, those were his boxers she was wearing. The cotton fabric was taut around her hips because they weren't quite made for her shape. And that was his Good Twin t-shirt. He could live with that, he thought, her wearing his clothes. He could definitely live with his boxers stretched tight across her ass.

It took her a minute for her to realize he was there. She turned, looking back at him from across the room.

She had been out here for quite some time, he realized, long enough for her to be fully awake. Thoughts were certainly flickering behind those expressive O'Neill eyes. Another worry struck him: was this the point, if, instead of bailing and avoiding recriminations, she confronted them? Okay, he braced for whatever it was she needed to do, whatever she needed to say. They could continue their debate from the night before, if that was necessary.

Her stomach growled.

"Ah." He cleared his throat. "Breakfast?"

"Here?" she wondered.

"Diner," he suggested.

"The one—?"

"Around the corner."

"Yes."

"Okay."

Thumbs back over his shoulder, toward the bathroom. "Shower?"

"Go ahead."

"You?"

"Done."

Wow. He must have been out of it if he hadn't heard his own creaky pipes. "I'll—ah—"

"Look," she held up a hand, "before I completely ruin my friendship with Jack, could we find out first if this is going to be one of those short and sweet things, or if we're going to be long and messy?"

He pushed glasses up his nose. "You think Jack is so overprotective of me—?"

"Oh, yes."

"That bad?"

"On permanent rotation to Planet Stink type bad, yes."

"Okay."

"What?"

"Let's see if it works out. Give it some time."

"You're okay with that?"

_That's what she's been thinking about all this time alone. Not recriminations at all. _He couldn't help but smile at that uncertain look, as if, once again, she hadn't been able to think past having to argue him into the point. He suppressed a grin at being able to surprise her. "Yeah. We can take our time."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

Back to the monosyllabic communication. Again, pointing meaningfully back over his shoulder, "I—ah—"

She crossed the room then, put arms around him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. As if she had been deliberately holding them apart when they talked, needing the space to think. Because if she had been touching him, like this, she wouldn't have been able to think about anything other than how right it felt to hold him.

Oh yeah, he thought, this was going to be long and messy all right. Was there anything involving an O'Neill in his life that wasn't messy? But he could wait for her to realize it herself. He could let her do that, even as he already thinking about getting another key made, and how long she needed him to wait before he could give it to her.

His phone rang.

"That will be Dani," he murmured against her neck.

A moan. "Do not tell me you two have plans to go in to work this morning."

"Ah—"

"It's _Saturday. _Do you not understand the concept of down time?"

He laughed. How to explain to her that his dream job was not work, that it was the O'Neill equivalent of a lifetime of a steak and ice cream buffet spread out before him? "Let me cancel."

"You don't have to."

"I kind of want to. That is, if you're open to making other plans."

"We could."

_We could. _Close enough. He answered. "Hello? Yeah. Hey, something's come up." _How cliché. _"Would you mind? I'll look forward to it. Catch up with you later."

And it was settled, just like that, a whole day spread out before them.

A whole day to get a shower, walk down to the diner, read the paper over breakfast, go for a long, scenic ride to retrieve his jeep. An afternoon in which to grab lunch, then to come home and undress her in the daylight, to touch her while watching her expressive face, eliciting more of those soft, delicious sounds with his lips, his fingers, his body. An afternoon in which to catnap with his air conditioning turned down so they could curl up together. A final good night kiss, her casual, "See you at brunch tomorrow?"

Her grin when he replied in Jack-speak, "Yassir, youbetcha."

And then he was alone. In an apartment that had never before felt so empty.

His first taste, he supposed, of what it would feel like when she was really gone.

_Suck it up, _he told himself. He trailed fingers over his miraculously still intact antique pottery, inhaled the remains of her scent from his hand. Let himself revel in the fact that she had actually been here, that it had been so very good.

And if he had agreed to keep it between them, if he couldn't touch her tomorrow at his friend's house, or when they passed each other at work, then at least he would get to see her. He would see her, and he would know she was still there, that there would be another night when she came and filled up his home and he would taste her on his fingers again.

It would be good enough, he decided. For now, it would be enough.

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	6. Chapter 6

Part 8. All In.

At brunch on Sunday morning, Danielle knew right away something was up. Looking up from arranging selections on her plate, she said, "You're singing."

"What?" Jacqueline started. No guilty glance toward Daniel, or anyone else for that matter, no gesture to give anything away. "I am not."

"You're mangling the 'I'd like to buy the world a Coke' song, in fact."

"No."

"Oh yes, yes you are."

"Not."

"Someone," Jack pointed out helpfully, "didn't come home Friday night."

Danielle raised eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

"So. What's his name?"

Hands open, J.C. protested, "Who said he had a name?"

"They usually do."

Enjoying the moment entirely too much, Jack leaned up on the balls of his feet. "You didn't get his name?"

"Didn't get whose name?" Samantha walked in.

_Oh, for crying out loud._ J.C. had to nip this in the bud before it was all over the base. Especially since Daniel was watching with a disgustingly amused expression. "He's Mr. It's None of Your Damn Businesses' Name."

"That," Teal'c declared over his heap of fruit and Danishes, "seems like an extremely long name, Jacqueline O'Neill."

"So there is someone," Sherlock Holmes of the archaeology world declared.

"There is someone what?" Samuel's turn to walk in on the middle of the conversation.

Dani pushed up her glasses. "Someone who isn't a one time thing, apparently."

"Really?" Daniel wondered. "How can you tell?"

J.C. scowled. "Don't you people have anything better to talk about?"

Jack grinned evilly. "Not at all."

"If it was a one time thing," Dani explained, "she'd just give us his name. Instead, we get to torture it out of her."

"Well, we know it isn't Bernie," Samuel supplied. "She never sang the Coca-Cola song for Bernie."

"If you call that off-key warbling singing."

"Should I make notes?" Daniel wondered, eyes dancing.

"This," Jacqueline said over her glass, "means war."

Dani sighed wistfully. "Love is a battlefield."

"I am not aware of this Tau'ri custom," Teal'c commented.

Outnumbered, outgunned, Jacqueline took her plate and beat a hasty retreat.

Not that her friends were going to let her off that easy. No, they were going to rub it in at every turn. When Jack turned up on the porch, she said quickly, "It might not work out. Don't get so worked up about it."

"Oh," he shrugged, "you're a grown up. It's none of my business."

"That's surprisingly reasonable."

"Except in the national security, you're in my command, alternative reality thing. Then it's all kinds of my business."

She toed his thigh with a bare foot. "Go away."

A laugh. A disgustingly evil laugh.

Damn her stupid good mood and that stupid song. And damn Daniel for sitting in there laughing, probably contributing to the wild theories she could overhear being kicked around. At that moment, any guilt she felt about obscuring the truth from anyone evaporated. He was so going to get it. They were all going to get it.

They didn't get anything that week, though, or the one following. That was the week Jack's team went to Euronda. She didn't have to read between the lines on that report to know that Jack would still be tasting the shit sandwich he had been served for quite some time. Not that he was feeling an ounce of guilt over Alar. No, it was the pilot he had killed with Alar's drones that Jack would be thinking about, the life he had taken from the Jack O'Neill Universal Measure of the Good Guy's side.

The only cure for that was a fishing trip. J.C. arranged a three day weekend, and she loaded Jack on the back of her Harley for a long, soul cleansing ride to a place where they needed no talking, just beer and fishing and, when he finally felt like being in the same room with another human being, a few games of chess.

While the pair of colonels were gone, Dani cornered Daniel in his office. "Okay," she said, leaning toward him across his desk, "who was she?"

"What?"

"You know. Last Saturday. The 'something' that came up."

"Oh." He laughed while inside, his mind kicked into overdrive. J.C. would kill him if he proved the weakest link. He leaned toward Dani, voice going sultry. "I spent some time with an older woman." Eyelashes batting. He paused just long enough for Dani's mind to kick a little into overdrive, too, and then, before she asked flat out and he got caught in a bald faced denial, he lied obliquely, "Surely you remember Mrs. Milligan from down the street. She asked if I'd come down and run the vacuum for her."

"Oh, you!" Dani slapped his shoulder.

"We haven't had tea in a long time." He waved a hand over his papers. "You know how insistent she is about offering, makes her feel a little less useless having to ask someone to come down and help her out, and I just thought, in for a penny, in for a pound."

"I used to take tea with her now and again, too," Dani said wistfully.

"Maybe you should come with me next time," he suggested. He'd have to go down and do a couple pre-emptive vacuums to establish his alibi, though. Mrs. Milligan had a blurry enough memory, given a few weeks, she would verify it even to his inquisitive counterpart.

"That would be nice. Okay," she pointed at him, "you're off the hook for canceling."

_And for being Dani's first suspect for monkeybusiness with J.C._ At least, he hoped he was off the hook. He had lied on behalf of his team in the field, but he had learned long ago that he was crap at lying to those close to him.

The week after was one where SG-101 had the official first big swap meet with the Grell. J.C. could almost feel Hammond's relief radiating from the observation room when she finally came back with the promised goods. He now had a tangible success to report, and while it would take weeks for R&D to start getting results from the test items brought back, they were finally on their way.

It was a Wednesday before J.C. had a chance to seek out Daniel alone, once again standing half in and half out of the doorway to his office, tapping the doorframe with the toe of her boot until he noticed her.

Propping his chin on a hand, he asked, "Did you have a good fishing trip?"

A shrug. It had been necessary for Jack, too private and complicated to explain. Change the topic. "Did you guys have a good weekend without us?"

"We hung out with Janet, took Cassie to an arcade, gossiped about you and your boyfriend."

"Oh yeah?"

"Current scuttlebutt is it might be Bauer."

"Oh, scuttlebutt, is it?" She mentally cursed her wayward singing habit again.

"Well, Bauer hasn't been on base to defend himself. Actually, Reynolds started a pool."

"Who's odds on favorite?"

"Gibson down in the motor pool."

"Gibson couldn't get a date with his own mother."

"I put a few bucks on Hammond myself."

"Ri-ight."

"Well." Daniel shrugged. "You never know."

"Sneak in a five on Thomas for me, will ya?"

"Ricardo Thomas?"

"Dani knows I thought he was a hottie."

"Should I worry?"

She made a face. "He's half _your_ age."

"Cradle robber."

"You wanna go out?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we should, ah, do, maybe a date type thing."

Hadn't had one of those in a while. Like, maybe back in college. Did he even remember how? "Did you have something in mind?"

"Ice skating?"

"Ice skating."

"Yeah. They open up the Rockies' rink on weeknights. And there's a really good Italian place a couple blocks over. For after."

"Did I ever give anyone the impression that I knew how to skate?"

"Um." A pause to think. "Who was the one telling Jack that it's the nineties and he ought to learn something new?"

A laugh. "Okay, you got me. When?"

"Tonight?"

"Ah." He sighed, looking at the spattering of paperwork on his desk. "I was helping categorize the stuff we got from the Grell."

"And?"

"And people are waiting on my reports. I need to do it." He really did, this time. "I was going to stay late."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Okay."

"I'll pick you up at your place about seven?"

"It's officially a date type thing."

A date type thing that pretty much ended up with him busting his ass a few good times. Like Ginger Rogers with Fred Astaire, Jacqueline did everything he did (except the falling part), and she did it all backwards, although she wasn't in high heels.

He got to see her laugh. A lot.

The Italian more than made up for any wounds to his pride. Again, pasta was not exactly a Jack-type food, and it was rare in their group rotation of choices to go, so a really good Italian place was another treat for him. And if his ass was sore enough to inhibit some of their sexual activity afterwards, well, at least their time together was worthy of humming on Saturday movie night.

"The Star Wars theme," Samantha named that hopelessly off-key tune.

"That's a step up from the Coke song," Dani noted.

"Is it?" Daniel wondered.

"It's longer and more complicated," Dani analyzed. "Interesting."

Daniel looked at Jack. "I don't think I've ever heard you hum. Or sing, for that matter."

Jack avoided the implied question, supplying meaningfully, "That was Thursday night."

Which, everyone knew, would effect the odds in the betting pool after Reynolds and cohorts held an inquisition to account for everyone from the SGC's whereabouts Thursday night.

J.C. swigged her beer. "I'm glad you're all so amused." She knew Ricardo spent Thursdays off base with his grandmother, and since SG-1 and 101 had been on planet, half the marines would have been on stand down. That would muddy the waters a little bit.

Monday morning, Anise of the Tok'ra showed up with her little alien armbands. Dangerous alien armbands. Once SG-1 was back home and safely ensconced in the infirmary, J.C. was only too delighted to quote to Jack what Hammond had said to Dr. Frasier: _"I thought the devices were supposed to enhance them physically, not make them stupid."_ J.C. shook her head. "Man, good thing stupidity doesn't rub off."

Still recuperating, Jack weakly managed to throw one base donut at her, which fell pitifully short. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I just realized," J.C.'s eyes glittered mischievously, "with you stuck in here, I have the house to myself all weekend."

"Don't," Jack protested, "be having hot monkey sex all over my furniture while I'm gone!"

Which, since Daniel was stuck on base, too, wasn't an option. But, still, what a great opportunity to sow some counterintelligence. "Oh, please, Jack, like you haven't already broken in every room."

"But it's my house!"

"And who is it that so faithfully reports what nights I'm gone? Hm? Oh, yes, I'm thinking it's time for that new couch to lose its virginity."

"Too much information!"

"Three whole days."

"Can we get some morphine here?"

"You," Janet informed him, "don't need morphine."

"She's killing me, Doc."

Jacqueline cackled wickedly all the way out the door.

If Jack didn't think to offer Danielle a key to let her guard the couch's chastity until Janet cut them loose, well, Daniel wasn't going to make the suggestion. No, Jacqueline was enjoying the misinformation entirely too much.

Between assignments off world, disappearances, and the fact that SG-101 took a beating as often as SG-1 did, it was rare for Daniel and J.C. to get time alone together. After an entire month of missed connections, they learned the hard way that it was unusual they could plan at all. Daniel found himself finding ways to finish work earlier, to create opportunities on the off chance she could follow up on them.

He kept a close eye on the betting pool, too, noting no one had caught on to the change in his habits. Hell, he still wasn't even in the running. He couldn't decide if he should be crushed that people viewed him as that pathetic or if he should pat himself on the back for his ninja-like powers of invisibility.

Of course, it didn't hurt that J.C. spent more time with the base marines than Jack ever had. Not just in briefings or going over orders with officers. The fact that she actually sought them out, joining them for basketball, sitting at their tables for meals, or meeting up with them after work at some of their preferred watering holes, had a significant impact on Reynold's pool.

One morning, Hammond walked into the commissary to find a group of marines, plus one air force colonel, chanting, "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Suddenly aware of his presence, the group fell silent. Hammond looked at the reddish liquid dispensed in small portions in glasses, and he said with his mild Texas drawl, "That better not be what it looks like."

Face puckered with the aftertaste of whatever she had just swallowed, J.C. replied, "It's Tobasco and Jell-O, sir."

Tobasco and Jell-O. At that point, George Hammond realized, he didn't really want to know what manner of stupidity they were up to. "As you were, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir."

Released from the general's scrutiny, one of the marines dived for a carton of milk to cool the burn and was immediately hosed by the others.

The anthropologist in Daniel speculated that, in that particular primitive ritual for dominance, whoever held out the longest was the alpha of the moment. Or the biggest loser, depending on how one felt about their digestive tract.

Two months after that first sushi dinner, Daniel gave Jacqueline a key. She started keeping a change of clothes at his place. Three months later, she was staying over regularly, even on nights he was off world; by then, she had more of her clothes at his house than she had at Jack's.

Although that didn't stop her from commandeering his boxers and t-shirts at every opportunity. Which he certainly didn't mind. The thin white material of his old shirts, worn over her bare breasts, did wonderful things for his libido that less see-through clothing didn't.

The downside, of course, of half living together was, Daniel learned more about Jacqueline's habits than he ever wanted to know. Oh, he knew about the bachelor level of cleanliness from having lived with an O'Neill, including little things like, any papers or journals or books left on a table were subject to being used as coasters, regardless of their rarity or value. He got into the habit of putting the irreplaceable stuff away.

But other things were new. For one, she did more physical training. Like Jack, every few mornings she was up early enough for morning runs. But, every other morning, she did that ungodly number of stomach crunches and push-ups he was familiar with from their days on PL8-236. Now that he was living with her, Daniel realized that her time spent with the marines wasn't just for leisure. From the occasional limp or bruise, and from the volume of Icy Hot she went through, she was obviously working on hand to hand combat.

Keenly aware, Daniel thought, that she was still a girl in the boy's sandbox, and that she had to work to keep her edge.

A fact that probably had more than a little to do with the Tobasco and Jell-O shots, too, that earning respect on a primitive level, earning her right to be among the marines, to command them.

The most important thing to him though, was whenever she was Earth bound, whether they had made plans or not, even if she smelled a little boozy from a night out, J.C. parked her bike next to his jeep in the apartment garage and let herself in. It was his boxers she slipped into, his t-shirt she put on, and his bed where she stretched out next to him.

That was all he needed to know about Tobasco and Jell-O shots.

He came back from P3X-888 soul weary and exhausted after having been dragged around by bound wrists all day as a captive of a wild unas. Rothman had been a friend, and if Daniel didn't know the marines as well as J.C. did, he would still miss familiar faces. More SGC funerals loomed on the horizon. He was just too damned beat to crack a smile even if either O'Neill had managed to dredge up some of their usual near-death mockery.

But there was none of that from either of them.

He wasn't so out of it that he didn't see the effect in J.C.'s eyes when she dropped into the infirmary during his post-op medical. They held hands, briefly, the supportive grip she exchanged with other convalescents. But this time, she hesitated before letting go. Letting him know if he needed more, she could let go of the silly façade. For his sake.

He squeezed her hand back. "I'm good. I just want to go home."

A nod. If he said so, she respected that.

Jack drove him home in his truck. His teammate came in with him, made sure he put Icy Hot on all the sore spots and Janet's prescribed cream on his wrists, changed wrappings for him, and plied him with Advil before letting him crash. "I can stay over," Jack offered.

Sometimes on nights like this, when a day had been this bad, it was good to have someone there, someone to have coffee with at three in the morning when the dreams caught up with him. A year ago, Daniel would simply have stayed over at Jack's a few nights, but with J.C. ensconced in the O'Neill spare bedroom, Jack probably felt that wasn't an option, even if he was used to her not coming home. This time, though, even if J.C. hadn't been there, Daniel really was fine on his own. "I'm good, Jack. I'm just going to crash. Go sleep in your own bed."

"If you need anything."

"I'll call," Daniel assured him.

J.C. showed up later, her weight on the mattress waking him. She pressed her forehead to his temple, arms, legs, twining possessively, protectively around him.

Was that the salty sweet of tears on her mouth? Yes, that was trembling transmitted through the contact of their lips. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here. Everything's okay."

"No, it's not okay."

"Something happen?"

"Only to you, Daniel, at least today."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine."

She wasn't fine. She hadn't stopped shaking. "Jacqueline. Talk to me. Please."

Of course he would want her to talk. That was how Daniel Jackson made connections, functioned, brought the world around him into focus and imposed order upon it. Silence, to him, was chaos. It was withdrawing, withholding, the unknown or inability to express that frightened him. As much as she simply needed to exist at the moment, he needed her to reach back, to let him connect. J.C. took an even breath and tried to find words, for his sake. "All I wanted to do was get some C-4 and a gun and go back to kill some unas."

"It's okay. I'm fine." He stroked those taut shoulders. "And I don't want anyone to go back and kill them. In fact, I made friends."

"Yes, that's you all over, making friends wherever you go."

He smiled. "I'd like to go back and study them. It's a rare opportunity to observe the evolution of a primitive people in an unspoiled environment."

"And, rationally, I should be able to agree with you. But I can't right now. Not when I look at that cut on your face and that rage swarms up at me all over again."

His eyes closed, and he was remembering, again seeing that cut on her cheek. Of its own volition, his hand found her face in the darkness, fingertips tracing that old mark.

"This is one of the consequences for me," she was saying, oblivious to the meaning in his touch, "that this thing between us affects my ability to be rational. That's what makes it conduct unbecoming. I can't afford to react this way. I can't afford to go ballistic just because you get a hangnail."

Well, he was feeling substantially worse than having gotten a hangnail, but he got the point. "We all know the risks."

"Yes. I know. I'll handle it, Daniel. I just need to work through it."

"Jacqueline—"

"There's nothing you can do, nothing I need you to do. I just—I just want to be here. Right now. You asked, and that's as best I can explain it. Let me work through it, okay?"

"Okay." She was not like him, he realized, who did all his best thinking aloud, stimulating ideas by bouncing them off of others. No, O'Neills didn't verbalize. It had cost her to try to explain it, to let him see that much. This moment was a rare gift indeed. "Thank you, Jacqueline. For talking to me." He kissed her temple.

They lay awake together, and he continued to stroke her back. It was a long time before the trembling stopped, until the arms and thighs holding onto him so tightly eased their grip.

She overslept and was late to work. He thought wryly that there probably wouldn't be any off key singing this weekend.

Monday morning, the Majors Carter reported to Hammond that they thought they knew how to open a wormhole into alternative realities. They had an entire powerpoint presentation, including explanations about disengaging safety protocols, the use of an EMP, and something about rewiring a DHD, all presented in enthusiastic tag-team style.

Hammond looked helplessly down the briefing table at his Colonels. Usually Jack had the techno-babble cut off before it went on too long, but this time, they were otherwise engaged. One of the O'Neills had folded up a strip of paper and they were indulging in a game of table football.

Jack had just lined up the perfect shot, about to flick the triangle between J.C.'s upraised fingers in a way that he could also punt the paper into her face—double score, if he could pull it off, _heh-heh_—when Dani cleared her throat meaningfully. Jack covered the incriminating evidence, he thought rather smoothly, with fingers, straightening a little. Decided that the briefing room silence meant there had been a question, and boldly determined the correct answer was, "Yes." Opened a hand toward his counterpart for confirmation.

"Absolutely," J.C. backed him up.

Jack nodded the general's direction in agreement. Surreptitiously glanced back at J.C. _Just had to one-up me with a four syllable word, didn't you?_

_Oh yes_, she grinned back at him, _you know it, baby._

Daniel exchanged a look with Dani, who mirrored his raised eyebrows and pursed lips, both of them thinking that the whole thing probably wasn't a very good idea. Going somewhere and dismantling vital parts of a gate control you intended to use to get home sounded a little risky. Even the Carters had admitted that no matter how carefully they took the DHD apart, the pieces might not go back together just right. But if the O'Neills were willing to give it a shot, they should probably back the Majors' play, too.

After having actually heard the entire presentation, Hammond admittedly had no better idea what had just been suggested than his 2ICs. He looked at the Carters and said honestly, "I couldn't agree more. Majors, you have a go."

Samantha beamed at her counterpart. _Someone had been listening after all._ "Thank you, sir," she said.

Equipment was requisitioned, and their return to P63-934 was scheduled for Tuesday.

Daniel was still having reservations that night when he mentioned to J.C., "Do you really think this is such a good idea?"

"Watching the Simpsons together?"

"No. Dismantling the DHD on P63-934."

"Who said anything about that?"

"Sam. Both Sams, actually."

"When?"

"This morning. In fact, you said we should _absolutely _go back to the planet and see if Carter could red-shift the gate."

Well, she had to admit, the _absolutely _part sounded familiar. "If I said so."

"You weren't listening at all, were you?"

"Was too."

"So you got the part about a Kraken crawling out of the DHD and attacking the MALP?"

"There's a risk to everything, Daniel, and I have the utmost faith in Carter. If he says we have to fight off a giant Cranky, then that's what has to be done."

"So, who won the table football game?"

"Oh, man, I was so about to lure him into putting his face—hey, you're missing the point here."

"Oh, no. Everything's quite clear to me now."

"Good. I'm glad we had this talk."

At least one of them was. He thought about calling Jack, but he doubted the conversation would be any more enlightening.

As they geared up in the ready room the next morning, J.C. pulled Jack aside. Voice low, "Did you catch the part about the Cranky?"

Following her lead and keeping his voice soft, "Cranky?"

"The thing in the DHD. Carter said poking around in there might stir it up. It's drawn to electronics," she extemporized. Hey, it lived in the DHD, and that would explain why it might eat the MALP. "If it gets out, it could go after the EMP or something."

Jack looked from her back to the Carters. Why did they never tell him these things? "Stay on your toes."

_Good._ J.C. went back to gearing up. On the off chance that Daniel hadn't just been hosing her, she had done her duty with the heads-up to her CO without anyone else knowing she hadn't been listening, either. Besides, if it lived in the DHD, how big could it be?

"Oh, look kids," Jack said as they stepped back through the gate in the morning, "Good old P63-934, just where we left it. I hate having to find a new parking space."

"Sir," Samantha said, "we should probably set up camp a little farther from the gate than usual."

He turned toward her, tilted his head. "Camp?"

"Yes sir." The tiniest flicker of uncertainty across her face. "We did say that it would take a day just to disassemble the DHD."

_Disassemble the DHD? _Jack's eyes flicked over to J.C.

"Yeah," J.C. busied herself rubbing a spot off her aviator glasses. "We're going to be here, how many days did you say, Major?"

Samantha supplied, "We're authorized for three."

"Three days," J.C. said, as if she had known all along, hiding her internal shock. _Three days?! _"They're going to disassemble the DHD, tinker with the elements, and try to induce the red-shift thing."

_My god, _Samuel thought, _who are you, and what have you done with my commanding officer?_

Eyes narrowed, voice lowered, Jack accused her, "You _read_ something, didn't you?"

They checked back in with the SGC, set up a 1600 contact time for Hammond to call back every day, and Jack paced out a perimeter. Teal'c picked out a campsite, and J.C. and the Jacksons moved equipment and set up. The Carters, of course, were only too eager to start on their DHD destruction as soon as they were given permission. Laptops came out, panels were opened, and diagnostic tools connected.

At some point, Daniel said to Dani, "Since we're here, you want to—?"

"I brought digging tools," she replied. "And a sifter."

J.C. made quick, succinct gestures, pointing to herself, Jack, and Teal'c, held up three fingers, touched watch and held up four, then tapped her earpiece and held up one.

There was something to be said for knowing what someone else was thinking, making shorthand of even hand sign. Jack nodded back to his counterpart. The three of them would take up watch over the others, trade off every four hours, making radio contact every hour. One with the Jacksons, one with the Carters, and one of them could be at rest in camp. Night watches, when everyone would be involved, could be worked out later. Jack checked his official Grell-tech watch, said, "Mark," to set the time when they would radio in. "All right, kids," he told the archaeologists, "you can go play in the dirt."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Daniel said.

Despite two paranoid colonels that kept glancing back at the DHD, nothing blew up and nothing attacked anyone. Around noon local time, Hammond checked in on them. At dusk, Jack herded his archaeologists back to camp, and the Carters quit for the night. MREs and coffee were heated up and served. J.C. produced a football, and she and Teal'c went out in the fading daylight and tossed it back and forth. Samuel brought out some cards and all the doctors in the group played poker for M&Ms from their MREs. Eventually, Jack set the watches and everyone called it a day.

Just after lunch the next day, Samantha test dialed the gate. When nothing happened, Samuel started reinserting different combinations of control crystals, making notations on his laptop, pausing between each setting for Samantha to dial. Eventually, they got the gate to spinning.

Jack paced his patrol area, listening to chevrons locking, clunking, his mind automatically counting six times, left hanging when the seventh failed. Over and over. You didn't know how used to something you were until you realized that your science team had deliberately broken it.

As he made one hourly radio contact with J.C., Jack asked, "The Tok'ra do know where we are, don't they?"

It was Daniel who replied. "Sure, Jack. Assuming they can find someone to send right away, it'll only take them a couple months to fly here for a pick up."

Damn. Something had told him to set the VCR.

At 20:07 hundred hours Earth time, the seventh chevron clunked and the wormhole whooshed. Only the swirl kicked kind of half-heartedly over the steps and pooped out.

"No joy on that one either," Samantha said to her counterpart.

"Sixty-two combinations down," Samuel commented, making a notation on his clipboard, "only two billion or so more to go."

Statistical humor. Jack so did not want to be the one standing nearby to hear that.

It wasn't until afternoon the next day that the seventh chevron finally locked and the wormhole connected. After some more tinkering, sensitive equipment was shut down, and Samantha set up the EMP. It took a moment for the pulse to build, discharge, and then the gate was dialed. And there it was at last: verification, a brief flicker of color as the wormhole gushed to life.

The Carters exchanged glances. Samuel turned some of the MALP sensors back on, checked telemetry. No deadly spikes in radiation, no crazy sensor readings. He gave the other major a nod. "Good to go."

Samantha let the gate shut down. They had been dialing another planet during the testing phase, not wanting to tie up the SGC with incoming wormholes. "Sir," she told her CO, "we're ready to test dial Earth."

"You have a go, Major," he told her.

She nodded. Discharged the EMP, dialed, the strange tint once again flickering as the connection was established, the red tinge gone as the event horizon settled into place. Carter sent her IDC.

There was a long pause, and then Harriman's voice, "IDC confirmed, SG-1. What's your status?"

"We're good here, Sergeant," Samantha radioed back.

Another long pause. Then Hammond's voice, "Who the hell is this?"

And Jack saw expressions of victory spread on the faces of two USAF majors.

Samuel scrambled for his own radio. "This is Major Samuel Carter, sir. It's a bit of a long story."

Then Samantha's own voice came back, "Did you say Major _Samuel _Carter?"

"Oh!" Samantha realized. "That's me! Um," she keyed her radio. "I know it's a little bit difficult to believe, but I think I'm you. We're actually communicating across a trans-dimensional wormhole from a parallel reality."

A moment passed. Samuel radioed this time, "Are you familiar with the quantum mirror?"

"How," the strange Samantha Carter asked, "do you know about that?"

"Our Dr. Jackson discovered it. We've destroyed ours, but there was an accident with the gate and my team went trans-dimensional. Now we're trying to recreate the effect to get home."

"Recreate the effect of the quantum mirror through the gate?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you insane?!"

_No_, Jack thought, _just desperate_.

Samantha radioed to Earth, "Can you at least tell us a little bit about ourselves? I need a baseline to see how far off we are from our home realities."

Earth's Carter sounded bewildered. "You have to know we're not going to discuss classified information over radio contact."

The Wonder Twins exchanged a look. "We got familiar voices, at least," Samuel pointed out. "They recognized our IDC."

"They can't help us," Samantha said. "Thanks anyway," she told the Earth strangers. Another pause, and without active radio waves being sent, the wormhole winked out.

"This is going to be a long process," Samuel said.

"I think we need some help," Samantha said. "Daniel," she keyed her radio.

"We hear you, Sam," he keyed back.

"We're going to have to try a lot of combinations. We could really use your help cataloguing our attempts. Not to mention that different people might give different contacts more information."

"We'll be there soon."

When their real home Hammond dialed in for their daily contact, Samantha reported their success. Hammond authorized them to stay on planet for a few more days to see if they could find a control mechanism. More supplies came through from Earth, proving that incoming wormholes functioned just fine.

So began the serious work of Trans-Dimensional Wormhole Communications. One of the Carters would adjust something in the DHD, the other would make a notation, something would be tested, the EMP discharged, and Earth was dialed.

Sometimes, there was no lock. Whichever Jackson was taking turns making notes would record that particular dimension's gate was unconnectable, and the Carters would dial again.

Sometimes, there was a lock, but no response to the IDC. That couldn't be home, either.

And then there were the contacts in response to the IDC. Most common was the "Who the hell are you?" followed by paranoid questions, accusations, sometimes downright threats. That day, they talked to two more General Hammonds, one of whom represented Earth in the name of his God Apophis, a General Maybourne (that was a quick hang up on their part—not going there), a General Jonathan O'Neill who told them he wasn't accepting collect calls, some civilian named Weir, Catherine Langford, and one very sad sounding General Daniel Jackson.

"I'm the only one left," General Jackson said after they had explained and finally transmitted a visual on the MALP camera. "Whatever I can do to help you, I will."

Which was a big turnaround in the attitude they had been getting, but as General Jackson's story unfolded, it was easy to see why: he had nothing to lose.

He named the names Jack and Samantha and Daniel knew, told how the Chappa'ai Defense Forces had encountered the Goa'ould, and how the United Nations Space Defence, his closest friends, had gone out to meet them, and were defeated, one by one. Some Tau'ri had escaped to the Alpha and Beta Colonies through the Chappa'ai. His Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter had figured a way using a tel'tak hyperdrive to introduce a heavy element into Earth's sun, and now Daniel was just waiting for the last of the Goa'ould motherships to enter Earth's solar system. When they did, he would blow the stargate, setting off a chain reaction that would consume everything out to the Keppler Belts.

"Good luck," he told them.

"Godspeed," both O'Neill's radioed back.

"Okay," Daniel said after that contact, "that was depressing."

"You're telling me," J.C. complained. "Where are we? Every contact has been all about you guys."

"Poor Teal'c," Dani said, giving their Jaffa a soulful look. "Half the time, he's destroying Earth. He just can't be happy doing that."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed.

They spent two more days talking to trans-dimensional Earths. Two more days of conversation with familiar, yet completely unfamiliar, voices, from whom it was usually difficult to extract anything but a bare minimum of information, before they finally found a Colonel Jacqueline O'Neill. Once Samuel had, again, explained the situation and asked for help, the other J.C. unexpectedly said, "Sure. I'll talk to myself."

Samuel waved at his CO, indicating she should do something other than chew on her powerbar.

J.C. swallowed and keyed her radio. "Hey."

Her tran-dimensional self said back, "Hey."

"So."

A laugh. "To the point, aren't you?"

"We've been at this all day. You wouldn't believe what we've been through."

"Oh yeah, yeah I would. Been there, done that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm a Visitor, too. That's what Janet started calling us, when we came through the wormhole. I don't belong in this reality I'm in."

"Sounds like a bad rock song."

"Try living it. Been here three years."

Three years. That was too long for it to be J.C.'s home. "Wow."

"You know, Carter taught me one piece of math."

"Yeah?"

"You multiply or divide any number by zero, you come up with zero. You multiply or divide any number by infinity, guess what? You still come up with infinity."

"O-kay." J.C. glanced at the nearest Carter to see if there was some kind of point. From both their expressions, yes, they got it.

"Look, Other Me," the stranger said, "sounds like you're just starting out. Let me help you out a little here, save you some time. Wherever you are, face the fact you're not getting home."

"Well, that's a little jaded."

"Try being captured by the Goa'ould, tortured to death and revived in a sarcophagus enough times to lose count, then have your friends come rescue you, and have your sarcophagus taken away."

"I've heard withdrawal's a bitch."

"Changes your perspective a little about what's important. Trust me on this: give it up. Get with the home team. Make a life for yourself. There's a lot of good you can do where you are."

"We're needed where we came from."

"They'll get along without you. Hell, not even Dr. Rothman is irreplaceable."

"Robert?"

Another laugh. "No, Danielle. They got married and moved back to Abydos."

Danielle's mouth opened in horror. "Ew!" Pointing at the gate, "That is so wrong! So very wrong! Turn it off, Sam! Turn it off!"

"Hey," unable to hear Dani, the distant Jacqueline was saying, "if one of you doesn't like the reality you're in, I've got everyone here already broken in. Other Me can't come, of course, but there's room for a Carter."

"Well, thanks anyway," J.C. replied. "I think we'll pass."

"Okay then. Good luck."

J.C. flipped off the dissipating wormhole. "You let your Carter get killed, asshole. The hell I'm sending you another one."

"Apparently they killed more than one," Jack commented. At J.C.'s look, "She didn't stipulate which Carter they had room for."

"You," J.C. pointed at Daniel, who had been making notes on the contact, "mark that one down as the Black Hole of Carter Eaters. Not going there."

"Rothman." Danielle shuddered.

Only once more did they connect to an Earth with a hint of J.C.'s SG-1. Jaffa Elite Samuel Carter wanted to know their coordinates so they could be picked up.

"You thought you were depressed?" Samuel asked Daniel. "Damn, at least your Earth held out, man."

At that point, something occurred to Samantha. "Sam, reset it back to twenty-six."

"The Black Hole of Carter Eaters?"

"Yeah."

Samuel reset it, they redid the test. This time, the Sergeant who answered had no recollection of talking to them before, and he had never heard of a Jacqueline O'Neill.

"Crap," Samuel said.

"I'm sorry," Samantha said. "I just thought of it."

Following her thinking, "Manual dialing isn't accurate enough to control what we connect to."

Carters didn't curse. They didn't break things, or have temper tantrums or vent about their own short sightedness. It might have been better, the O'Neills thought watching twin stony expressions, if they did.

Dani pointed out, "At least we found the mechanism that makes the gate malfunction."

"Which means," Samuel said slowly, "that the malfunction was in our reality. We can't control it from here."

They had learned some other things, too, Samantha thought, but she didn't think Samuel was in the mood to hear the positive spin at the moment. There was nothing like the quiet gut-burning sensation of hitting a dead end. After that, there was nothing to be gained by continuing to test. Perhaps when they found a way to accurately change settings, they could try again. She said, "Time to put the DHD back together."

Samuel looked up from his assortment of parts at J.C. "She's right, ma'am."

Jacqueline had half expected the expression on his face. She removed sunglasses, letting them hang on their lanyard. "What?"

"About infinity."

"Ah-ah!" J.C. waved hands near her head. "What have I told you about telling me the odds?"

"We're trying to do something with the gate technology that it wasn't designed for."

"So?"

"Ma'am, this is quantum level mechanics. The difference between the first and second attempt to dial twenty-six could have been the existence of a single molecule, the passing through of a single quark. The exact condition of each dial doesn't even exist from one moment to the next."

"The makers of the quantum mirror controlled it. You're just not there yet, Sam."

He started to say something else, realized the futility of it, released the air he was holding. Looked at Samantha.

"Don't cheat off her paper." J.C. stepped between them. "You don't need her answers. Look at me. I don't know what the hell happened to that woman from the planet of the Carter Eaters, but that was the voice of evil. Don't you let her reach through that wormhole and put that poison in you, too."

"You can't tell me," his voice took on an edge, "that you're not thinking the same thing. Ma'am."

"Oh yes I can, _Major._"

"Really? Seems to me you're settling in with the home team quite nicely."

"Is that what you're thinking? You want to set up housekeeping? God knows, it's been a year. Trish has probably started seeing that Martin guy by now."

"Jack." Danielle stepped toward them, her instinct to diffuse conflict, not incite it.

But the other Jack's hand came to rest on Dani's shoulder. When she looked up at him, he shook his head. _Let it happen._ It needed to happen. And out here, where it was only them, was better than on base, where anyone might see it.

"Or maybe it's not Trish you're worried about at," J.C. was saying. "I mean, there's Janet, and she's got Cassie. Ready made family. Sweet deal."

Those Carter eyes went flat in a way Jack had never seen before.

J.C. closed the distance between them, tone going harsh, uncompromising. "Now you listen to me. I don't give a damn what Trish does—it's been a year, and she's entitled to do what's best for herself and her family. And I don't give a damn about your personal guilt about feelings you have for someone who isn't your wife. There's no judgment from _anyone_ here about that.

"But let me make something clear to you: I'm the fucking full-bird colonel. I'm the one that gets to decide what's worth our time and resources. And when it comes to that, there are only two things I need to think about and it all becomes very clear to me: their names are Annabelle and Josephine. And they're not going to buy this sorry ass bullshit infinity excuse any more than I do. You want to make a case for putting this baby to bed? Then you get your shit together and you make it the most thorough, comprehensive recommendation you can, because I'm not buying anything less than your best answer. And this is not it. You hear me?"

Eyes closed. "Yes ma'am."

"You sure you got that, Major Carter?"

He nodded, looking at her again. "Yes ma'am."

A long pause as she held his eyes, searching them, making sure he did. "Good." Sunglasses went back on. "Pack it up, Major, and get us the hell off this planet."

Jack didn't see himself ever dressing down his Carter that way. Of course, he had no idea what she would be like after being stuck somewhere a year, and Samantha didn't have kids. Thoughts of Sara and Charlie had sustained Jack in Iraq; losing both had nearly destroyed him. A big brain like Carter would know every moment of every passing day exactly what was slipping away.

And it was J.C.'s job to reign in that unspoken terror, to deflect it, redirect it, find ways to use it; despite the barbecues and down time together, she was his commanding officer, not everyone's best friend.

Besides, getting Carter's darkest thoughts in the open, that would provide relief in itself. If the man wanted to talk, then Danielle was obviously ready to be the friend he needed. There were reasons other than the professional that made Jackson an asset to his own team.

Both Sams bent back to work on the DHD. Everything had to be put back in order, by diagram, and tested. And if Samuel's hands shook just a little at first, Samantha didn't comment on it.

After the colonels had gone back to walk their perimeter, after the Jacksons and Teal'c had busied themselves breaking camp, Samantha put a hand on Samuel's. He looked at her, managed a flicker of a smile. Sam gave him a brief, solid hug. He patted her arm, and they both were more focused on the task at hand.

After contact with the SGC was re-established, diagnostics run, questions exchanged to make sure that, yes, they were in the right reality, and equipment was sent through, Jack said, "At least we didn't have to fight off the Cranky."

Teal'c lifted an eyebrow.

Daniel had to turn away, covering his outburst with a coughing fit.

Samuel leaned closer to his counterpart, whispered, "Did he say _Cranky?_"

Oh yeah, J.C. thought, someone had been hosing her. But, better Jack said it than her. She slapped Daniel's back a little harder than necessary. "You all right there, Jackson?"

132

He whipped off glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just, ah, allergies," he managed.

132


	7. Chapter 7

Part 8. Sweetening the Pot.

General George Hammond was accustomed to SG-1 and SG-101 encountering Jaffa. They were first contact teams, and despite every precaution taken to avoid the enemy, it was to be expected that they would occasionally crop up.

He did not expect it of SG-7.

As the Enkarans were once again being relocated, this time by Lotan, Hammond had sent his science and medical team in to survey the effects of the terraforming before P5S-381 became completely uninhabitable.

The fact that an alkesh showed up out of nowhere was, in itself, suspicious enough. The address had been taken from the Asgard library; there had never been any Goa'ould activity on the planet before, no sign the system lords had ever heard of it. But, Hammond reasoned, if the enemy was going to find it, it would be by ship.

He wasn't worried about Lotar. When the alien came back and finished his work, the planet would become uninhabitable and therefore of no colonization interest to the Goa'ould. And Lotar's ship had shields—Jack's failed naquadah bomb proved that. No doubt with warning, the Gadmeer would consider the Goa'ould a minor annoyance.

And SG-7 had escaped, if a little shaken and battered, without casualties.

But then Teal'c was captured on a visit to Chulak, and SG-11 encountered Jaffa at another address taken from the Asgard library. Teal'c was rescued later by SG-1, but Edwards came in hot, pulling his team back through the wormhole by the skin of their teeth.

The most telling part came from Edward's report. Despite nearly losing Duncan to a staff blast, Edward's assessment was clear: the Jaffa had not been using lethal force.

General George Hammond didn't need things spelled out for him. When he pulled them into his office on a Saturday morning, neither did either O'Neill.

"We're compromised," Jack said.

The words weighed heavily on Hammond. "From within."

J.C. stated the rest of the obvious. "They're trying to take SGC personnel captive."

"Except for Teal'c," Hammond said, "they've shown up places we've deemed safe for science teams."

"Looking to capture technology," Jack assessed. "And those who understand it."

"Softer targets," J.C. tossed out.

Officers were always a target, as the enemy sought to compromise methods and command protocols. They all knew the SGC was brass heavy. One didn't hand the kind of classified information they handled on a daily basis off to first year privates. While he couldn't predict how someone would react to switching bodies with a coworker, Hammond had staffed his crews with the experienced simply because he needed people who were mentally tough enough to handle bizarre situations and encounters. Therefore, any member of an off world team could compromise vital information.

But, science teams were larger, and they were, by default, full of geeks. Geeks tended to get involved with what they were doing, distracted by pretty sparklies. Which was why they were accompanied by marines whose sole purpose was not, as many scientists complained, to throw roadblocks in the way of discovery, but to make the scientists themselves as hard a target as possible.

"I cannot," Hammond said, "conscionably put another team in the field until we have this matter resolved. If I stop operations when the next team is due out on Monday morning, I could be tipping off our mole and losing our only advantage." Which was why he had called both colonels in for an unannounced meeting. "I need a solution, people."

"What else do we know?" Jack asked.

Hands folded on his desk, Hammond gave them the bare, ugly bones of it, laying out the facts he had, letting them draw their own conclusions, to see if they concurred with his own.

"Jaffa were waiting for Teal'c," Jack thought out loud. "But SG-7 and 11 were on planet several days."

"They came by ship," J.C. said. "The Goa'ould probably didn't have a gate address."

Jack followed. "Whatever the mole is using to transmit locations, they're not able to send details like an address."

"So they don't have a vo'cume."

"While we still don't know enough about the vo'cumes to replicate them," Hammond said, "science teams have discovered the subspace communicators give off an energy signature when in use. Scanners have been installed on base, so I'm certain whatever it is isn't being activated inside the SGC. Nevertheless, given the time required for hyperspace travel, and the out of the way locations of the targeted teams, the mole has to be using some kind of long range communication."

Eyebrows lifted, Jack and J.C. said together, "A homing signal."

"So," Jack followed, "they're moving off planet to activate whatever it is."

"How long," J.C. wondered, "between the time Teal'c decided to go back to Chulak and the time he went?"

"He put in a request on Wednesday, asking for the weekend. There were two teams to go off world before he left."

Checking the paperwork to see which ones, Jack asked, "Who overlaps with 7 and 11?"

Coming to it at last, Hammond opened a drawer, placing twelve thick personnel files in the center of his desk.

Reluctantly, Jack rested eyes on the stack of files. They had done their best to reduce the suspect pool through logic. Now began the distasteful task of looking at those familiar names.

Major Lorne was on top, followed by Captains Anderson and Lynch and two other marines. On the science missions that might be on planet for weeks, marines were cycled home every few days. These five were from different teams because marine units often tapped others for training or to supplement when members of a team was down. The list of overlapping marines was so short simply because neither SG-7 nor SG-11 had been on planet for more than a few days before Jaffa had been encountered.

Dr. Billings was no surprise, either, as the Bug Lady was often called upon to determine if the local insect life was going to eat anyone in their sleep. Send a marine in to face a horde of Jaffa, they don't bat an eyelid. Find a hairy little, multi-legged something in a sleeping bag, and listen to grown men scream like little girls. Despite the clerical acrobatics required to justify it, the presence of an entomologist on Hammond's deep space telemetry project was crucial.

The seventh file down in the stack was Samuel Carter's.

Deliberately placed, J.C. knew. Not at the top or the bottom to focus or diffuse suspicion, but obscured in the middle, after Hammond had seen her reaction to others. But she wasn't going to play favorites any more than Jack would have, and of all their suspects, Sam had a clearer possible motive than any of them. J.C. handed the file off to Jack. At his look, she said, "No one might know more about gate technology than the Goa'ould. Sam wants to get home. I can't eliminate him at this point." No one could. Her gut, now that was another matter. But you didn't argue gut with someone who didn't share it.

Jack set the file back on Hammond's desk. If it had belonged to his Sam, he would have kept his mouth shut, too. Vouching for anyone at this point was pointless.

"I can think of only one alternative to starting a witch hunt," Hammond said.

"Get them all off planet," Jack said, "and see how they draw the Goa'ould." Or _if_ they did.

If their traitor wasn't one of those twelve people, they had a bigger problem than they thought, and Hammond would have no choice but to instigate a full scale shakedown of the SGC. "Monday morning," the general said, "Jack will lead a scheduled survey of P3C-125. I can adjust the expedition size to include all our suspects." Hammond opened another drawer, pulling out a battered Grell watch and placing it on his desk in front of J.C. "It is my intention to send you in early, let you set up for surveillance. If we're wrong and a vo'cume is involved, this will give you the opportunity to spot it."

And if they couldn't spot their mole activating any kind of device, then they would have a holdout in position to provide the survey team with some back up.

J.C. put the last file back on Hammond's desk. "If we're going to bait a trap, let's bait it with the best."

"SG-1," Jack said.

Any other time, J.C. might have jibed that he had named the second string, but there was no O'Neill playfulness here. "If it's Carter, Samantha would be the one to sell up the river. And if it isn't, we're laying a two-for temptation out there."

A two-for-one twice over, Hammond didn't need to point out. Not just key scientists, but two of his most experienced Majors as well. But, it did nothing for them if the pot wasn't sweet enough.

"General," J.C. said carefully, hoping her words sounded to Jack like nothing other than typical O'Neill overprotectiveness, "There's nothing of archaeological significance on this planet. Civilians might get in the way."

"Dr. Billings is a civilian," Jack pointed out.

"The Doctors Jackson are members of your teams," Hammond said, following J.C.'s reasoning. "It might arouse suspicion to leave them behind."

J.C. nodded reluctantly. She'd had to try.

After that, it didn't take them long to finalize what they were going to do.

That afternoon's beer and pizza night for SG-1 and 101 was a picnic at Little Springs Park. It was one of those rare, golden autumn days just warm enough for shorts while there was still daylight, cooler dusk driving everyone to the picnic fire. Janet and Cassie came, which lightened Samuel's mood. Jack made what he called hobo packs, wrapping spiced meat and vegetables in aluminum foil and putting them directly into the fire while everyone else divvied up for a football game.

Despite the casual, playful atmosphere of the gathering, it didn't take long for Daniel to realize something was up. In between the time she had taken that phone call summoning her back to the SGC that morning, and her arrival at the park, something had changed for Jacqueline.

And it wasn't just her. Both O'Neills stood slightly away from the fire, not quite opposing each other in the circle of their friends, but offset, as if distancing themselves. It was a similar pose they took when partnering on a watch, only now their eyes weren't constantly assessing their surroundings, but resting on the fire, lost in thought.

Both of them must have been called in, Daniel realized. For Hammond to interrupt a rare weekend off, it had to be for something pretty serious.

It was late when J.C. announced, "Think I'll take a week off."

Janet, who worried often about the sheer volume of unused vacation time that tended to stack up around the lead SG teams, said, "Everything going okay?"

"Just, ah, thinking I could use a little down time."

"We've got a big survey next week," Jack pointed out.

J.C. nodded, kicked at a leaf by her foot. "Hammond's tapping a couple teams for it. But Sammy and Dani can go with your team, right?"

"Are you abandoning me to babysit the geeks?"

"We're kind of redundant on this one, you and me. I think I can afford to sit this one out, maybe spend some time up at the cabin, get some fishing in."

Janet suggested, "Sounds like a good opportunity to take that boyfriend of yours for a little alone time."

"Eh."

Dani perked up at the carefully indifferent tone. "You two have a fight?"

"Nah. Just don't think he'll enjoy a week of fishing."

"Did he say that?" Daniel asked, he hoped not too pointedly.

A shrug. "Didn't ask."

"Not too promising, there, J.C.," Jack noted. At her look, "Not if you decided he doesn't like fishing. Next thing you know, you'll find out he doesn't like hockey."

J.C. considered. Daniel was usually reading something when she watched the games. "No, not a fan."

"No wonder you think he's temporary," Dani put in.

"What? I didn't say that."

"Oh, come on. It's been months and you haven't brought him around. Jack's right. If he doesn't like fishing or hockey, and you don't want to introduce him, you've pretty much decided it isn't going to last."

"We don't have to share everything, you know."

"It's fine, Jack. You're grown up enough, you can indulge in a fling."

"Oh for—you know, there's a reason I don't bring him over. A good one."

_Yeah_, thought Daniel, _you're terrified of Jack._ But then, he was in no position on that one to criticize.

"We can talk about things other than work," Samantha laid out her own motive for not bringing an occasional date. "Don't feel like you can't bring him because we won't be able to relax and enjoy down time."

J.C. was touched by the offer. "Thanks, Sam. But, you know, it's not you I'm protecting him from."

Jack pursed his mouth. "Protecting? Who needs protecting?"

Her eyes took on a more typical O'Neill mischievous glint. "Look, even if the man didn't wet his pants when Teal'c gave him the hairy eyebrow—yes, that one." J.C. pointed at the Jaffa brow that went up. "Even if he made it past that, don't think I don't know you," she pointed at her counterpart. "You're just waiting to get his name so you can give him a background check that makes a rectal probe look like just a handshake."

Innocently, "_Moi_?"

"Yes, you. But you," she pointed at each Jackson, "you two are the worst."

"Us?" Dani exchanged a look with Daniel.

"Yes, you two, with your innocent, wholesome faces and your pretty little blue eyes. Ten minutes with you and the poor bastard is pouring out a lifetime of secrets he doesn't even know he has. You think I want to subject my boyfriend to the Jackson equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition?"

"We're not that bad. Are we?"

Daniel pushed glasses back into place. "I don't think so." He was far more concerned with how neatly the two O'Neills had steered the conversation away from the real question. It struck him then: the two were working something. Working in the same way Jack had been working when he had stolen a piece of Tollan technology almost two years ago. Working them all.

And he knew from experience, from knowing both of them, whatever distasteful work they were up to, they were holding themselves apart because when the shit hit the fan, they didn't want it to splatter the rest of the team.

A knot formed in Daniel's gut. _Crap._

J.C. drew on her beer. Daniel was looking entirely too thoughtful about all that. Since he wasn't really worried about meeting their friends, it was time to distract him from whatever was putting that little crease up there between his eyebrows. "You know what? If it's that important to you guys, we can settle this."

Daniel's heart jumped a little in panic as he realized what she had just said. _Now? _A little heads-up would have been nice.

"Oh, it's important," Jack said, thinking of the names he had put into the betting pool. "Vitally important."

"Fine," Jacqueline said. "I'll ask him if he's free next weekend."

"Will you, now?"

Dani pointed with a knitting needle. "You will so chicken out."

J.C. shot back, "Will not."

"Will too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Get with Reynolds and kiss your last bet goodbye."

"You mean it's not Williams?"

Not falling for the bait, "I don't talk to Reynolds. How would I know who you bet on?"

"You think you're so smart."

J.C. looked at the others. "Who's the scary one?"

Daniel thought it was Jack, but with everyone else, he agreed, "Dani."

"Next weekend," J.C. waved her empty bottle. "Just you wait and see."

Dani said, "Oh, I'm holding my breath."

It wasn't until they were packing up to leave that J.C. had a chance to pull Samuel aside, away from the others. "Got a second?"

As they stepped away, he opened hands. "Look, ma'am, I'm sorry about what I said."

She did a double take. "What?"

"About you settling in." At her blank look, "Back on P63-934."

"You're still thinking about that? You'd just taken it in the nuts, Carter. I didn't take it personally. Besides, you'll have to be a lot meaner than that if you want me to boo-hoo in my Fruit Loops."

"Oh."

Looking at him sharply, "Are we okay on that?"

Relieved that wasn't what she wanted to talk about, "Yes ma'am."

"Good." She glanced back at Jack, who was loading an ice chest in the back of his truck. "I need some help with something."

"What can I do?"

"It's a little, ah. Something I need you to keep quiet. Here." She reached in her pocket, turning so the others couldn't see what she pressed into his hand.

Samuel recognized his own handiwork on the old Grell watch. "I thought this went to Area 51."

"I intercepted it."

He looked at her. "Ma'am?"

"Put it in your pocket, Carter, before someone sees it."

Reflexively, he obeyed.

"They took it apart," she told him. "I need you to fix it."

"Ma'am?"

She had to respect his troubled frown. She would have been disappointed if he hadn't at least been concerned that his CO had apparently stolen a classified piece of technology. "Look, this isn't an order. If you can't do it for me, just give it back."

Both hands in pockets now. "Who else—?"

"No questions, Carter. The less you know, the better. Don't let anyone else see it. Will you fix it?"

Not, _can you do it? _ But, _will you? _For her. No questions asked. Samuel slowly nodded.

"Thanks, Sam. I'll come by your house for it tomorrow."

He didn't say anything else as he walked back to his compact car.

Jack didn't miss the unhappy look on the man's face. He doubted J.C. had risked their operation and tipped Samuel off, but he had to wonder about the exchange.

Daniel spent the drive home and the rest of the evening worrying about what J.C. was up to. There was no point asking. Whatever it was, she couldn't talk about it. There was also the chance that, as with Jack's Tollan mission, they might be monitored. Not a thought he found very comforting.

So he said nothing when she came in, nothing as she showered away the picnic smoke so he wouldn't cough all night, and redressed for bed, slipping under the sheets next to him. Still holding herself slightly apart, he noted, their sides not quite touching.

In the darkness of his bedroom, she said, "I know you don't like fishing the way I do."

"Don't."

"It's true."

"I said, don't." He leaned up on a hand, clicked on the light. When she started to say something else, he put a fingertip on her mouth. "Don't lie to me." He watched the relief, then concern flicker in those chocolate eyes. He let that fingertip trace her lips, soothing. "I'll be here when you get back."

_You're too damned perceptive for your own good. _"What gave me away?"

If she could ask that, then she didn't think they were being monitored, at least. "Phone call," he enumerated on fingers. "If you were planning on a week away, you would have told me. You and Jack were just a little too coordinated. And despite what you think, I'd love to go fishing with you."

"Really?"

"Yes." _Because it would be time with you._

"You think anyone else caught on?"

No need to tell her about her and Jack's telltale body language. If anyone else had picked up on it, they had wisely kept their mouths shut, and he didn't need to give away all his secrets. "I've had a little experience helping you with subterfuge."

A little frown. "Um. About next weekend."

"I'm not afraid of Jack." He reconsidered, added, "That much."

She reached up and touched that precious face. "It's these two archaeologists you should be afraid of. Clever. Insidious. And one of them can be a very, very bad boy."

"I like bad." That finally got a smile out of her. He could breathe again. Whatever it was she had to do, things were still right between them. When he turned out the light again, she curled along his back.

_You're not bad at all, _J.C. thought. _You're good. You're certainly too good to me._

Hours later and across town, Jack blinked at the glowing dials of his alarm clock. 3:23 a.m. That couldn't have been his doorbell, could it? No. Just dreaming.

The doorbell sounded again, followed by a knock.

Okay. Light. Adjust sweatpants, shuffle down the hall. At another knock and he called, "Coming, coming! A little patience for the gray hair, all right?" Fumble the lock, open the door.

Samuel Carter stood on his doorstep, blinking in the sudden porch light. "Sir."

Not someone Jack O'Neill expected to see on his doorstep in the middle of the night. "Major?"

Hands in pockets, the younger man looked at his feet. "Could I talk to you, sir?"

_Had J.C. said something, spurred his conscience? Was he coming here to confess? _Coming fully alert, Jack stepped back. "Come in." Shut the door behind him, hit the living room light switch. "Have a seat, Carter. Forgive the mess."

Carter looked around before perching on the edge of one of the recliners. "Actually, it looks pretty clean, sir."

"Does it?" Jack blinked suspiciously at his living room. "Been gone a few days. Don't worry. It'll be back to normal soon." He took the couch, folded hands around a knee. "What's on your mind, son?"

Carter pushed fingers through thinning hair. "I need some help, sir."

Sadly, Jack felt a familiar weight settle in his gut. So, this was it after all. He just had to let the man play it out. "What can I do for you?"

"It's, ah, Colonel O'Neill, sir. The other one. My colonel."

"J.C.?"

A nod. Carter frowned. "She's done something, sir."

Well, this wasn't what he expected at all. "What happened?"

Samuel pulled the watch from his pocket.

O'Neill took it, recognizing the one from Hammond's desk. "Where'd you get this?"

"She asked me to repair it by tomorrow morning." Fingers twined, knuckles white. "She didn't want anyone else to know she had it."

"Did she say why?"

Samuel shook his head. Then, passionately, "I don't think it's malicious, sir. She wouldn't do anything to harm Stargate Command or anyone there. But." He swallowed.

_He's been sick about this since the picnic. _"But what?" Jack prompted.

Samuel took a breath. "She's worried about me, sir."

"Yes, she is." They all were.

"I think she might try something crazy because of me. That's the only thing I can think of that would make her—make her do something like this. I know she's not supposed to have it. But, she thinks I'm desperate, so I'm pretty sure she came up with some crazy idea that might help get us home. I don't know what, but maybe because you think the same way, you could help me figure it out. And maybe you can help me, help her, stop her before she goes too far. Believe me, sir, I know how important your respect is to her, and Hammond's respect, and I don't want her risking that, or losing it, because of me, because she tried to do something for me."

Not a confession after all. Rather, not the one he was expecting. Jack felt that stone in his gut slip away. _Just a young officer worried about his CO. _"I'm sure you're right," he said. "I'm sure it's not malicious." That much small comfort he could offer.

"It's still enough to get her in trouble, isn't it?"

Carter knew the answer to that just as well as he did, but Jack answered anyway. Careful not to hint at the necessary subterfuge. "If she's caught with it unauthorized, yes."

"I don't know what to do, sir. I could give it back to her without repairing it, tell her I couldn't fix it, maybe get her to tell me what she needed it for."

"Can you fix it?"

Since the only thing wrong with it was someone had put the battery crystal back in backwards, Samuel nodded.

Jack tapped the watch against his wrist thoughtfully. How to play this? "You know I have to get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, sir. But if anyone can help her, you can."

"And if you're wrong?"

Eyes hardened. "Then it's better you find out, sir."

_Because the man understood duty and honor and what it meant to do the right thing, even if it meant choosing between his superior officer and his own integrity_. _And he came to me for help. _Jack was really touched at the thought. "Thank you, Major, for trusting me with this."

"Sir."

"Can you trust me a little more?"

"Sir?"

"I want you to go ahead and repair it for her." He handed the contentious item back. "Can you do that?"

"Yes sir."

"You give it back to her, Major, and I'll take care of the rest."

Relief warred with uncertainty. At last Samuel nodded again.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. "Good man."

J.C.'s cell phone went off at 3:52 a.m. Daniel fumbled it into the floor, had to roll halfway out of bed to fish for it, managed to hand it off, but not before the call went to voicemail. J.C. sighed, saw Jack's number, dialed back. A sticky mouthed, "What?"

Jack's voice, "Guess who was here?"

"You tell me."

"Your astrophysicist was worried about you."

"Yeah?"

A pause. "Carter's a good man."

_Oh, yes he is. _She couldn't have been more proud. Slowly, "Thanks, Jack. For calling." For letting her know Samuel was off the suspect list.

"Actually, I was kinda hoping the boyfriend would answer."

She hung up on him.

Daniel's sleepy voice, "Everything okay?"

She trailed fingers soothingly over his shoulders. "Yeah. Just took care of something."

"Let me guess: he was disappointed I didn't answer the phone?"

A chuckle, legs twining back with his. "You got our number, don't you, Jackson?"

"Someone has to keep you humble. Oh," he remembered, "there was some change in Reynold's pool. Someone put a dollar on me."

"Any idea who?"

"No. Happened last week some time. No one else followed up."

"For just a dollar, they're probably just hedging bets, even on the most unlikely candidates."

"Yeah. Someone even put a buck on Reynolds."

"Oh, poor Daniel. Feeling just a little invisible?"

A laugh. "Not when you do things like _that _with your fingers."

Innocently, "Was I doing something?"

Quickly, "I'm awake."

J.C. left right Daniel's after breakfast the next morning. She had to pick up the watch from Carter, get to base and double check her supply and equipment list and tack it on to Jack's, then make some noise about asking for the week off and putting the request on Hammond's desk.

Down in supply, the HK-SL8 was right where Hammond said it would be. She did a weapons check and got it stowed on Jack's FRED. Then she slipped out of the equipment rooms, taking a side trip by the cafeteria, and made a fond farewell to everyone, ostensibly leaving base.

Harriman answered the phone in the morning when she called in to confirm her vacation request.

When he reviewed the security tapes later, Hammond had to shudder at the efficiency with which his two colonels infiltrated his base that morning. What couldn't be achieved with the watch's limited phasing was done with a low drawn baseball cap, coordinated side steps into hallways or doors, and Jack's smooth interception and distraction. Everyone was used to the quirky colonel, so no one thought anything of a little extra coffee mug waving and nonsequitor greetings. J.C. was quickly ensconced behind the general's door, where she would wait for gate activation before a final dash out of phase to get through the gate when the MALP was sent.

She and Jack had radios with dedicated channels, but there was none of the usual O'Neill chatter. J.C. sent one double click, letting Jack know she was safely on the other side of the wormhole.

The hard part accomplished, Jack left the observation deck and went down to Teal'c's quarters. While he didn't explain everything, he needed extra eyes on the ground, and Teal'c would do as he asked without all the details or discussing it with anyone else.

Then Jack had an hour to kill before even the Jacksons showed up for breakfast.

"What are you doing here this early?" Dani wanted to know.

_Always with the questions_. Jack waved his third cup of coffee vaguely. "I thought I'd see how the working class lived, slum with the proletariat."

The Jacksons did that eye thing where they exchanged a look without turning their heads.

God, it was too early in the morning for Jack to see that. "You kids have fun now." He'd better get some decaf, hide out somewhere. Maybe drift by the labs. Oh, mistake—the geeks had gotten notice they were going on a field trip and were packing all their little geek gear. Someone might want him to lift something, and there would certainly be none of that.

Eventually 0700 rolled around and it was time for the Monday morning staff meeting. There were reports from departments, but, sadly, no one to play table football with. Assignments were handed out, further briefings scheduled, and Jack handed off his folder full of doodles for Harriman to file.

"I'm glad you find my reports so absorbing," Daniel said wryly.

"That was half as many doodles as I did last time," Jack pointed out.

"Just how much coffee have you had this morning?"

"Not as much as you've had."

"Why don't you hand me the coffee cup, before someone gets hurt?"

Jack pulled his mug of decaf closer to his chest. "Field coffee tomorrow."

"Good point."

148

148


	8. Chapter 8

Part 9. Cards on the Table.

Science teams were flexible in size, but counting SG-1 and two add-ons from 101, SG-7 and 11, plus SG-3, there were over thirty people who walked through the gate that morning into the long afternoon sun on the forested hills of P3C-125. Jack was taking no chances with their escape route; he wanted camp right at the gate.

Young Dr. Felger was the first scientist to protest. "But, Colonel O'Neill, the area we want to survey is over there."

"Yes, yes it is," Jack agreed amiably. "And you can take a nice marine escort over there any time you need to."

"But our equipment will be here."

"Yes it will."

"It will be needed over there."

"And you can take it over there whenever you need it over there. And you can bring it right back here when you're not over there."

"But it's heavy. And gravity here is 1.1 times that of Earth."

"1.1, is it? That much. Well, I'd recommend lots of breaks for snacks."

"Can the marines—?"

"No." It had long been established that the guard units were not beasts of burden.

Felger looked about to protest some more, perhaps try to explain it to the dense air force officer again, but Jack wandered off.

Dani poked the colonel in the arm. "You enjoyed that."

In the same amiable tone he had used on Felger, "Yes, yes I did."

Jack's mission that first few hours was to control who was alone, when, and where. He had to provide opportunity for his culprit to activate whatever device they were using, assuming it was something that would be large enough for him or J.C. to notice, and he had to do it in a way he could control it. So, yes, Dr. Felger's survey site was a perfect opportunity to let the doctors head out, accompanied by Teal'c and some marines. Then he could cycle the watch one man at a time, giving each of his five marine suspects time alone along that yardage that had only light cover for them to duck down to obscure any dirty deeds.

It was a start.

In the meantime, there was a matter of having some accidents with a couple of the tents, so camp privacy was not readily available. Some pitons weren't secured in the ground quite well enough and popped out when he tripped, some stays came mysteriously undone.

Okay, so maybe he took just a little perverse pleasure that he managed to piss off so many so efficiently.

By the time the tents were finally seriously secured, there was still no joy from J.C. on the marines sent out to the survey team, no double click to indicate she had seen anything. In fact, J.C. made sure to note in her report that the most suspicious behavior she observed that morning was exhibited by one USAF Colonel, who kept showing unusual signs of interest in whatever project someone was working on.

"You're in my light," Dr. Billings told him.

Jack shuffled a few feet over. "That better?"

The pudgy civilian looked up at him through the magnifying lenses she had worn to examine the line of ant-like insects moving through the dirt. "Your foot is in my bug trail."

He picked up one foot, and when she shook her head, moved the other. Yep, there were some bugs down there all right. And Billings was armed with nothing more than a stick and some tweezers. _No, no vo'cumes or GLRCs here_.

"I thought you didn't like insects," she said.

"Not my thing," he agreed. "But I like you enjoying them a lot better when you have a marine with you."

Billings shoved her lenses up into her hair, stood up, looking around. "Oh. Did I get this far from camp?"

"Preston!" Jack shouted in his best angry sergeant tone. "Get your butt over here! What the hell are you doing? She could have been eaten by hyenas by now!"

The marine ran to join them, face ruddy in embarrassment. "Yes sir! Sorry sir!"

Billings looked down at the insect trail Preston had just trampled and sighed. Glanced at her watch. Two hours observation completely disrupted in less than a minute.

"How the hell," Jack growled at the marine, "did you lose track of your scientist, Preston?!"

Preston looked bewildered. He had no idea how a frumpy, middle aged civilian could be there one minute, and way over here the next. She was so damned _quiet._ "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir!"

"You bet it won't," Jack glowered. He turned to talk to the Bug Lady, noticed that she was already about fifteen yards off into the bushes. "Damn. I hate when that happens." _Okay, she wanted to play hardball? He had hardball. _"Daniel! Danielle! Dr. Billings needs some help over here."

Billings straightened from catching whatever wiggly thing she had coaxed onto her stick. "I asked for no such thing, Colonel O'Neill."

_This hurts you so much more than it hurts me, _Jack thought. He told the Jacksons, "Dr. Billings could use a hand in her collections."

Dani pushed up glasses. "Well, I really haven't done this kind of thing. How can we help?"

"You two have good hands. I'm sure you can catch some stuff without smushing it. Or help out however she needs you. You guys can do that, right?"

"Do our best," Daniel said.

Okay, so it was really underhanded to saddle the poor woman with both of them. At the very least, she was going to have to listen to them prattle on in their Jackson-speak. But there wouldn't be any wandering off alone. A helpful Jackson was an at-your-elbow Jackson. _Take that, _Jack thought at the entomologist frowning his direction, _you sneaky, stealthy old woman._

He should have known they'd actually get along, that they would come back to camp gabbling amongst themselves, flushed and excited with their numerous finds. Bug-speak was just a new language to a Jackson, and who knew Billings had been in Cairo and had stories to tell about observing some rare and endangered scarab?

"I just wanted to stop by and thank you, Colonel O'Neill," Dr. Billings, who seldom had a kind word for military personnel, told him after supper. "Both Drs. Jackson are extremely charming and talented colleagues, and I had a delightful afternoon."

How could the Jacksons let him down like that?_ They were supposed to torture you, not make friends. _"That's what we're here for, ma'am," he said with a smile.

It was his Carter who approached him after breakfast the next morning. "Sir," she said hesitantly.

"What's on your mind, Carter?"

"Don't get me wrong, sir," she said. "Excuse me if I'm out of line."

"Spit it out, Major."

"Sir, we're doing work that first year assistants could be doing. Major Carter and I, that is."

"I'm sorry you're bored."

She blushed. "I'm not saying we're above doing it, sir."

Times like these, she looked a hell of a lot younger than the other Carter. Jack had to wonder if parenting had aged Samuel, changed him in some way that made him just feel older. "Look, Hammond wants you here, so you're here. We just do what we're told on this trip, eh?"

"Yes sir."

He was sure the message got back to Samuel.

"Does Jack seem a little twitchy to you?" Dani asked Daniel over lunch.

Jack had been up most of the night, walking patrol, keeping tabs on camp movements. So, yes, he seemed a little twitchy. But Daniel had been watching for it, too, watching for hints of whatever the old man was up to. He couldn't lie to Dani. At best, he could deflect a little. Coffee fogging his glasses, "Does he?"

"He just about took Preston's head off yesterday."

"Preston did kind of deserve it, and Edwards pretty much did the same."

"Yes, but Jack doesn't usually do that in the field."

"He yells at me all the time."

"Carter!" Dani mocked softly in an approximation of Jack's tone, "Now would be a good time!"

A chuckle. "At her, too."

"I think we should switch him to decaf."

"Why punish the rest of us?"

"Good point."

By mid-afternoon, local time, twenty-five hours after being on planet, Jack knew that whatever communication their mole had made had probably already been done. He and J.C. had either missed its application, or whatever was used to transmit locations was smaller than a vo'cume.

Which left them with two choices. Pack it in and start sending people back through the gate and have Hammond search them bodily one by one. If they were wrong and the mole wasn't among them, that tipped off the spy as well as ignited all the cross-accusational paranoia of a witch hunt.

Or, they could sit tight, leave the trap baited. If Jaffa actually showed, then they could send everyone back through the gate to be searched with the certainty there was a transmitter among them. And, if the Jaffa showed, there was the slight hope that, since they were looking for it, the mole might do something to give themselves away.

It was Jack's call. Not that he could have discussed it with J.C., even if he could have found her wherever she was hiding.

Jack knew what he preferred. He _preferred _that some alien come out of the bushes with a big sign pasted on its chest that said, "Hi, I'm the spy! I'll tell you everything you wanted to know!"

Barring that, they were going to have to go with Plan B. He hated Plan B. Plan B was always so messy.

At least with the distance any ship would have to travel, based on the time the other two teams had before their encounters, he could probably get a good night's sleep tonight. He hoped J.C. managed the same.

It was the Carters who pulled the Jacksons aside after breakfast where no one else could overhear. "Did you notice," Samantha asked, "the colonel has two radios?"

Dani glanced Jack's direction, where he was pacing at the edge of camp. "Two? What makes you say that?"

"He's been wearing that earpiece since we've been here. But I just heard him talking to Edwards, and Edwards was broadcasting back from the radio speaker in his vest."

"Sometimes," Dani pointed out, "he forgets he's wearing the earpiece, even when it's unplugged."

Samuel had thought the same. But, his teammates didn't know about J.C. and the watch, and until that moment, Samuel thought Jack might just be a little distracted by the same worry about J.C. that he was. In his mind, whatever was going on at home to get to the bottom of things explained the colonel's quirky behavior. He just wished he could ask the man about it.

Samantha was saying, "For almost two days?"

Daniel's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help it. He knew. In that moment, he simply knew: Jacqueline wasn't on a fishing trip. _She's here._

"That's it." Dani pushed up the sleeves on her green BDUs. "I am so getting to the bottom of this."

Samuel felt a little surge of relief. _He _couldn't ask a superior officer, but Danielle had a way of finding things out.

But Daniel put a hand on her arm. "Whatever he's up to, it's got to be important. If he could have told us, he would have."

"Oh, I'm not confronting him. When does asking an O'Neill directly get you anything?"

"What, then?"

"I'm going to talk to Teal'c."

Even Samantha sounded surprised. "Teal'c?"

Dani's face dimpled with a grin. "Watch and learn, people. Watch and learn."

"Poor Teal'c," Samuel sympathized.

"How long," Samantha wondered, "do you think it will take her to crack him?"

"I give him five minutes."

"Oh, less than that."

"You're on. The usual bet?"

"The usual." _Come on, Dani._ It had been a while since any of them had cleaned out Jack's refrigerator, and she didn't relish losing the bet.

Daniel watched Danielle go with the realization, _I truly am evil._

Ever alert, Teal'c did not look down at the smaller person who approached his elbow. His left elbow, his free hand. It had taken some time for Daniel Jackson to learn to stand on his unarmed side. It was good the other Jackson had learned the same. "Danielle Jackson," he acknowledged.

"Good afternoon, Teal'c."

"It does appear to be pleasant weather."

"You'd never lie to me, would you, Teal'c?"

"If I were in the habit of lying to you, then any answer to that question would be suspect, would it not, Danielle Jackson?"

"Then you'd tell me if you couldn't tell me what you and Jack were up to, wouldn't you?"

He raised an eyebrow, finally looking down at her.

She grinned innocuously back.

Jack got a double click in his radio, alerting him, before J.C.'s voice was in his ear. "Teal'c's in trouble."

Since he couldn't exactly key her back and ask what she meant, Jack's eyes immediately went to the Jaffa, who was escorting Danielle his direction.

The little Jackson came to a stop in front of him, hitting him with that megawatt smile.

"I believe," Teal'c rumbled, "Danielle Jackson has some questions."

_Oh, I bet she does. _"Thanks, buddy." _Thanks a lot._

Dani said, "Oh, I don't have any questions for you, Jack."

"You don't?"

"No. Here. Let me straighten this." She reached up, adjusted his collar, back of her hand brushing the second radio tucked inside his tac vest on the way down. "Can't have our colonel walking all over the place with a crooked collar. There. All straight."

J.C.'s voice again. "Who was it that said we should leave the Jacksons behind?"

Jack pulled Jacqueline out of his ear. "Oh, was that unplugged? Silly me."

"Yes, silly colonel, leaving that in for a few days."

"That long?"

"Don't worry, Jack. We're the only ones who know you're not just contrary to be contrary."

_I'm not? _Raised eyebrows. "We?"

"We just want to know what you need us to do. Like, do we," pointedly, "need to go back to the SGC with Dr. Billings today, help her unpack her things? Look for something she might have forgotten to classify? She's doing a brilliant paper on parallel evolution, you know."

That damned smile was infectious. Jack felt himself returning it in spite of himself. "Is she?"

"Or shall we all watch Sam fall asleep doing elevation surveys for Dr. Chester? Whatever you need us to do, there we are."

"Yes. There you are." Like a vicious little rat terrier, she had a hold of his ankle and wasn't going to let go. Buying himself time to think, Jack fished in a pocket for a stick of gum, offered her a piece, slowly unwrapped his own. _Good thing Samuel is no longer a suspect, or this op would have been blown. _As sugary goodness of Juicy Fruit burst over his tongue, he thought, _oh well_. Little Dani had just let him know that his team was on alert; may as well use it. "Why don't you kids just go and be helpful, like you always are. Just, ah, watch out for elephants. And other gray stuff."

"Elephants, is it?" Dani mused. _Gray like Jaffa armor, I'll bet_.

"You never know."

"All right then. You have a good morning, Colonel." One last flash of dimples and Dani went back toward where the others were lingering around the coffee decanters.

Jack clapped Teal'c's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, buddy. You were outgunned on this one."

"I am not worried, Colonel O'Neill. What is an elephant?"

They had known there was no way Jack could directly come out and say what was going on, but Dani's report to the others was enough. "We're on the lookout for gray things."

So, Samuel's thoughts realigned slowly, the man wasn't worried about an investigation into J.C. going on back at SGC at all.

The two sets of doctors stood in silence a moment, thinking to themselves. An unspoken consensus reached, they refilled coffee cups and parted company. While it was not uncommon for one or the other of them to go unarmed in camp, strapping on a weapon and wearing a radio was standard practice. Wherever they went, they were prepared.

It was another entire day on planet before the Jaffa finally showed up.

Jack got a single click in his ear before his counterpart told him, "Got a Jaffa patrol of five about a half click off Reynolds' two o'clock. They haven't spotted the survey team yet, but they're headed in the right direction."

Reynolds was covering the survey team. Already moving, Jack double clicked one radio to let her know he heard, then keyed his other. "SG-three-niner, come in."

Reynolds came back immediately, "Three-niner here, sir."

"You've got six Jaffa coming in on your two o'clock. Drop whatever you're doing and fall back to camp."

Everyone with a radio heard the order. Which meant everyone except half the scientists knew what was going on.

Reynolds returned, "Copy."

"Daniel." Jack gestured at the nearest archaeologist. "Dial Earth, tell Hammond we've got Jaffa and we're coming home." Hammond would know what it meant. "Edwards." The other colonel was already seeking him out. "You and Lorne and Connor set up to hold the gate. I want a clear head count. Carter," he collected his Sam, "you and Dani round up everyone in camp. Don't let 'em stand around and grab stuff, just haul 'em over here and shove 'em through the gate."

"Yes sir." Samantha and Dani jogged off.

"This is an emergency evacuation!" Jack shouted at camp. "Non-assigned personnel, leave everything and just get yourselves through the gate! Now, people! Let's move it!"

A click in his ear and J.C. informed him, "The Jaffa are closing on Reynolds. Might have heard the gate."

Jack double clicked back. On the communal radio, "Reynolds, they're heads up and closing." _Reynolds, Lynch, Kitching, and Warren_, Jack ran through the names on survey, _Chester, Davis, Waymuth, Samuel Carter, and Teal'c._ Nine people out there.

"Copy," Reynolds came back.

"Teal'c just went commando," J.C. informed him.

Billings at least could do what she was told, Jack noted. The Bug Lady was the first through the gate, and she actually went empty handed. _Well, that's going to earn her a shakedown search from Hammond. _Unless he could find their mole in the next few minutes, they were all going to participate in a search. _Damn._

Others were going a little more reluctantly. Geeks were always trying to grab something at the last minute, tools or laptop or that one last disk of data they almost forgot. Predictably, Miller and his assistant were pulling MALP telemetry while Carter was trying to get them to move.

"I gave you an order, Carter." Jack pulled her zat'nikatel from its holster. Looking at Samantha meaningfully, he zatted the MALP itself. At Dr. Miller's surprised stutter, he shouted in the man's face, "_MOVE IT!_" Handed the zat back to Samantha. "Get it done, Major."

Was that a gleam of delight in his officer's eye as she _yessir_-ed him?

He glanced around, saw Dani was too preoccupied to notice that, yes, he _had _enjoyed that just a little bit._ What she doesn't know won't earn me a scolding._

J.C. in his ear again. "You hear that?"

What with his own yelling, the gate whooshing, Major Lorne slapping together a rocket launcher, and Felger protesting that, "I need just one more little thing, just a little thing," while being forcibly shoved up the stone steps by a feisty Jackson half his size, there wasn't much Jack _could_ hear.

At least until he felt its rumble through his feet.

_Oh, crap._

Teal'c announced over the radio, "I believe there is an alkesh in the vicinity."

The enemy could cloak them, but there was no mistaking the roar of those powerful engines as they clawed through the atmosphere.

"They might be serious this time," J.C. mused in Jack's ear.

A Goa'ould bomber, and Jack knew what he would have tried to take out first. "Clear the gate! Everybody away from the gate!"

Edwards had already figured out the same and was shouting at his team. Dani was up the steps with Felger, shoving him the last few feet. Alkesh weren't exactly up to USAF accuracy standards, though, and the first explosion ripped the ground about fifty feet beyond the event horizon.

So Danielle had time to glance back once, thinking of her team, of what she could do and what she couldn't, before she took that last step through. "Close the iris!" she shouted on the other side, running even if Felger didn't have the sense to. She couldn't see the second bomb dropped or the wall of fire that consumed the shimmering event horizon behind her, but a roar shook the gate room, flames ripping over the ramp before the iris pinched off the worst of it. "God bless you, Harriman!"

The gate itself was tough and would endure, Jack thought as his exit closed off, even if protective circuits would shut it down. It might even take an hour for the DHD to cool enough they didn't have to use oven mitts to dial.

Lorne wasn't hesitating with the rocket launcher, and Connor followed suit with a second volley. The nice thing about cloaked ships was, no energy left for those pesky shields. Unfortunately, alkesh were armored enough that two hits weren't going to take it down. Still, there were a pair of respectable fire blossoms to mark follow up targets, and that would shake things up a bit. Edwards had opened a second box and was handing out reloads.

_Good man, _Jack thought.

J.C. again. "Good thing they're not actually trying to kill anyone."

Jack keyed back to her, "We're going with Plan C." _Whatever that is._

"What happened to Plan B?"

"Too messy."

"It always is. Well, good thing I happen to have C on standby. That okay with you?"

"I'm open."

J.C. switched radios, addressing everyone over the communal one. "SG-3-niner, change your heading seventy degrees."

"Copy," a harried sounding Reynolds shot back. He was having to physically knock a piece of heavy equipment out of Weymuth's hands. Run meant run, not grab everything you could to weigh yourself down.

"Colonel?" Samuel sounded surprised.

"No, it's the tooth fairy, Major," she shot back. "Take the lead from Reynolds. You're looking for a Christmas tree."

"Yes ma'am."

"Got a Christmas tree for me, Santa Claus?" Jack radioed.

"Collect your people and go hook up with Reynolds," J.C. answered. "Heading one twenty degrees from the gate."

Lorne and Connor scored with their second alkesh-seeking volleys. The bomber had moved about a half click away, and those in camp heard the faint familiar sound of rings in action. Busy, busy little rings.

"Got a head count?" Jack asked Edwards.

"Counting two O'Neills," the colonel answered, now that he had heard J.C. over the radio, "we got nineteen on this side of the gate."

Unlike the others, Daniel couldn't identify the crisp, clean crack of an armor jacketed sniper round from an HK SL8, but he could hear it echo through the hills. His first thought was, _Jacqueline._ She was out there, somewhere, above them, watching out for them. Two more shots followed the first.

A mile away, Teal'c dropped the fifth and last of the Jaffa patrol. From the sound and angle of the three cover shots she had given him, J.C. was on the hill to the east. He had great respect for the particular Tau'ri weapon she applied, both for its range and accuracy that the Goa'ould weapons simply did not have, but just as much for O'Neill in choosing that particular sniper position over two others he deemed inferior.

"Grab what you can," Jack ordered Edwards, eyes seeking out Samantha and Daniel, tallying who he had actually seen through the gate and who he hadn't. _I'm missing someone. _"You two, we'll check the tents for stragglers."

Of course, ordering a USAF colonel and two marines to grab what they could meant something very different than ordering geeks to do the same. Only two reloads for the launchers left, and Lorne and Connor lingered only long enough to score one last time. The rest of what they grabbed was ammo.

Samuel radioed, "We're at the tree." The conifer with the gum wrappers wadded up in a ball, hanging from a piece of fishing line like an ornament, just enough sparkly to catch their eye.

"Hold position," J.C. radioed back. "Wait for O'Neill. Come on, Jack, you girls coming to this tea party or not?"

Sam and Daniel shook their heads at Jack's glance. No one hiding in the tents. Time to go. O'Neill gestured to Edwards and the others, radioed to J.C., "You can start on the crumpets without us. Never liked crumpets."

An explosion rumbled in the distance. Jack exchanged a look with Edwards.

"Oh," J.C. transmitted, "did I mention I put out some anti-personnel devices? You might want to stay on the heading I gave you."

_Nice. Wait—just what did she mean by staying on the heading she had given?_

Another explosion. Another.

"Just how many," Jack wanted to know, "APMs did you put out?"

"I can't help it," she returned, "if they just happened to pick the same peaceful meadow to ring in to that I thought would be a great place for them to ring in to."

"I think I'm in love," Edwards muttered.

"You're fourteen to one odds in the pool, sir," Lorne commented.

"Waste of money, son. Warhorses like us don't give each other a second glance."

The Jaffa caught on, albeit slowly. Jack's group had reached Reynolds by the time the alkesh engines had rumbled to a position over the gate. "Now what?" he radioed.

"Don't bother me," J.C. responded. "I'm busy counting."

"Counting?"

"Just how many Jaffa can one alkesh hold, anyway?"

From his cover position out in the woods, Teal'c commented, "At least a thousand."

Jack winced. "Don't tell us the odds."

J.C., "Oh, now you made me lose count."

Pointedly into his radio, "Shouldn't we be running somewhere?"

A pause. "The gate is the way home, Jack. You can't rush it from a mile away."

"Yes, but _a thousand _Jaffa? I mean, we're good, but that's, like, a hundred a piece."

"Just give me a minute."

"Patience is not my virtue."

"You have a virtue?"

He thought a minute, looked at the others. Not over the radio, commented, "I have a virtue."

Daniel suggested, "Chastity?"

_Not by choice. _Gripping the radio impatiently, Jack said, "We're still waiting here."

"They're still assembling. Oh, look, where did Anderson come from?"

"What?" Jack's gut knotted._ I knew we left someone behind._

"They're escorting him out. Congratulations there, Mr. Jaffa. You've discovered a radio. When you push that little button on the side, you can talk to me. Tell me who you are and gloat a little bit."

A pause. The SG members imagined a Jaffa turning the talking radio in his hand suspiciously.

"Jack," J.C. keyed the radio in his ear, her words making his blood run cold, "Anderson came out on his own. Looks like he was waiting in the woods for you to leave."

"I am Feh'ret," came a strange voice over the shared radio, "First Prime of Kali. You will surrender now, and receive the goddess's mercy."

Jack's heart sank. _Scott Anderson. _The fresh faced young captain had been in the SGC only a month. _So goddamn young. _Keying the dedicated radio, "You're sure?"

"Tell you what, Ferret-face," J.C. shot back to the First Prime, "you surrender now, and _I'll_ grant _you_ mercy." Into Jack's earpiece, "Anderson's pointing your direction. He's pretty much telling them how to find you."

"Take him out." They couldn't let Anderson go back with the Jaffa.

Jaffa were forming up in groups, starting off into the woods. J.C. squeezed off one shot, popping not Anderson, but the radio. Then flipped the first switch on the C-4.

While there was a smaller explosion out in the woods where Reynolds and the survey team had been only moments ago, spots from around the gate errupted. Assembled Jaffa were tossed like rag dolls. Those that managed to regain their feet scrambled for safer ground only to find the sweet spots J.C. blew with the second switch.

Jack gritted over the dedicated radio, "Son of a—you rigged my camp with explosives?!"

Back over the group radio, "Technically, you rigged it. I just rigged your equipment with C-4. Geological survey equipment makes pretty good shrapnel, you think?"

Horrified, Jack looked at Chester, Weymuth, and Davis, realizing just how close to death they had all come. If Reynolds had let even one geek bring some precious piece of survey equipment—_there but for the grace of Reynolds go I._

"Got some stragglers left," J.C. commented, confirming Anderson's body through her scope. An explosion in the woods as someone triggered a mine. "Someone of rank is rounding up the troops. They know you had a safe trail."

"What about Anderson?" Reynolds asked about his man.

J.C. lied, "They killed him, Reynolds. I'm sorry."

Jack didn't contradict her. Now was not the time to tell an officer one of his own was a mole, and Anderson was just as dead, either way.

Alkesh engines rumbled again, moving off. But not leaving, from the sound of it. Just looking for a safe place to ring the rest of their search parties down, probably at least a mile, two miles away.

Jack radioed, "Gimme a head count."

"Looking at twenty-two headed your way."

"Strategy?"

"Um, you go back to the gate now, and go home?"

"Is there even a safe way to get back to the gate?" he asked the maniac who had just blown up his camp. "I mean, without exploding?"

"Teal'c knows where the mines are. How do you think the survey team kept from stepping on them?"

"You told him?"

"Not until after Billings almost stepped on one. Then I had to show him so he could move some of them. Damn, that woman was a nuisance."

_You're telling me, _Jack thought. "Teal'c, we should probably go now."

"Indeed." The Jaffa hefted his staff.

Jack got them lined up, himself bringing up the rear. When they neared a mine, Teal'c silently pointed it out in passing.

J.C. let the Jaffa hunting party get a good ways down the trail before she started firing on them, picking one off to make the rest dive one way or another for cover, driving them into the trail of claymores. She took their number down by five before they were clever enough to stick to good cover. Then she scrambled to stiff legs and abandoned her position. She had almost two clicks to cover to make the gate.

The direction Teal'c took Jack's group, counterclockwise from the trail the survey team had made, spiraled them toward the gate gradually, but jogging brought them in quickly. As much as they could jog, anyway. Chester was gripping his side and lagging the further they got. O'Neill was more worried about him having a heart attack than getting caught by Jaffa. "Been scrimping on the PT, sir," the scientist puffed.

In camp, Daniel went straight to the DHD. They needed to know first if it was still working. It was hot, yes, and he quickly folded up his boonie, using it to insulate a hand as he tapped out symbols. The gate lit up, locked, the wormhole connected. Samuel sent the IDC. Hammond came back on the radio, authorized them to come home. Three scientists went through the event horizon.

Reynolds went to his fallen man, checking for life. Warren picked Anderson up in a fireman's carry, the next to go through.

Jack needed that body, needed to find the transmitter to put his mission to bed, so he was glad they had time to collect it. He wasn't happy that everyone else had lined up in positions to hold the gate. Waiting for their last man.

They could hear the Jaffa moving in the woods as J.C. finally broke cover. Jack shouted her direction, "You move pretty fast for an old woman!"

J.C. gave him a finger, didn't stop running when she reached them, heading right up the steps. "What are you people standing around for? Let's go! After you, Jackson."

Daniel didn't miss her wink as she urged him up the stairs before her. He turned as he stepped through, expecting to see her right behind him.

"You're welcome," Jack said, backing up. "Move it, Carters! Reynolds, your team next! Then Edwards." Which left him and Teal'c, last up the steps.

Or so he thought until he heard a zat go off behind him. Jack turned, saw Lynch point, before he felt that familiar blinding white pain as every muscle in his body spasmed him into unconsciousness.

"You're not a Carter," Lynch said mildly, tossing the stolen zat'nikatel to the side. After all, he couldn't take it back through the gate without having to explain how he had gotten it. "But I suppose you'll have to do."

J.C. let Lynch step through the wormhole before she deactivated the watch. "General," she keyed her dedicated radio, "Lynch just zatted O'Neill and Teal'c. I think he and Anderson were working together."

"Copy," Hammond came back. In the command room, without alerting those below, he sent the two MPs at his back into the gateroom to secure Lynch.

J.C. dragged Teal'c first, rolling him through because there was no way she could pick him up. The guy weighed more than a side of beef. A big side of beef. Glanced up in time to see Jaffa breaking from the trees. Grabbed Jack's ankles, because there just wasn't time to be elegant about it. She could explain the bruises on his head later, right?

She was through the stargate, backing down the ramp until the length of Jack's body was free of the event horizon, before she heard the sound. Loud in the enclosed space, the crack of gunfire. Then came a hot, bone crunching sensation as something slammed into her side. The taste of blood in her mouth, an inexplicable gurgling in her chest. She had time to recognize, _full metal jacket, close range P-90 fire. _Couldn't suck air, couldn't breathe, gasping as the world went sparkly and green and finally black.

165

165


	9. Chapter 9

Part 10. Full House.

Forty-five seconds. That's how long it was between the time Daniel realized J.C. wasn't next to him and the time she came through the wormhole. He turned, walking backwards down the ramp, because he had to get out of the way, eyes still searching, not finding her.

First came the Carters, then Reynolds, Warren, and Kitching. Immediately aware that not all of his men were accounted for, Reynolds asked, "Kitch, where's Lynch?"

"He was right behind me, sir," was the reply.

Next were Edwards, Lorne, and Connor, walking backwards but not firing.

Daniel knew that meant the other side was still clear of the enemy. He counted another full fifteen seconds, and then Lynch came through.

"Where've you been?" Reynolds demanded, smacking Lynch's shoulder.

"I was in a good spot to cover, sir," Lynch explained.

"Stay with the team, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

When Teal'c was rolled through, everyone knew something had gone wrong. Where was Jack? Daniel's worry ratched up a few more notches.

Ten feet away from him, Lynch's broke into a sweat. _Had O'Neill woken up?_ He had caught Teal'c blind, but he knew O'Neill had seen him. If O'Neill came through, he was screwed. He raised his P-90, hands clenching, cornered, mind working feverishly on a way out of this.

Forty-five seconds after he had come safely through himself, Daniel counted, before the event horizon rippled again.

Forty-five seconds, and Lynch opened fire.

If his weapon had been set to automatic, he probably would have taken out half the gate room. As it was, he had never intended to do more than make token fire at the Jaffa, who were not supposed to target him at all, and so his gun was set to manual. Still, his finger pulled convulsively, targeting the gate area first, because his mind told him he could still talk his way out, that he could say he thought O'Neill was a Jaffa, and it was an accident. But when he saw the other O'Neill coming through, he panicked more, and his firing went wide and wild.

The marines Hammond had sent were not yet in the gate room. The teams in the gateroom turned weapons, but Lynch was surrounded and crossfire would have taken out too many of their own. Two Carters fumbled for zats. Samantha got her shot off first.

But not before the damage was done.

Daniel was up the ramp. There was blood this time. So very much blood. Jack was stirring, rolling onto his side, but J.C. was making a bad gurgling sound. Daniel knelt, saw a spot on the back of her vest was crushed inward into her left side, the ceramics that had replaced Kevlar as a better defense against staff blasts splintered into her flesh. He knew enough where to put hands, could feel a strange sponginess and pricks of bone against his skin. Warm life flowed through his fingers. He looked helplessly up at Jack.

Jack struggled for consciousness, grasping to make sense of the shouting. Saw Daniel kneeling there, the younger man's eyes wide in an uncharacteristic terror. Jack took in the splay of blood, the medics moving in. Grabbed the stunned man's arm, pulled him out of Janet's way. _Lynch. Have to tell them about Lynch. _Eyes sought Teal'c, the Carters, the rest of his men. Kitching was sprawled on the floor in ugly pieces. Reynolds was applying pressure to Connor's shoulder. Jack registered that it was J.C. on the ramp next to his feet.

_Feel it later._ His hand closed on his radio. "Lynch zatted us," he said, looking up at the bald man in the control room. He could explain about Anderson in a more thorough debrief. Until then, Hammond would know how to handle the prisoner.

"She's in arrest," Janet said. She had already eased J.C. onto her side, tilted head to open an airway.

Daniel watched the paddles connect. It was his own body arcing on that ramp, his own breath caught as Janet paused, felt for a pulse. The doctor finally ordered the corpsemen to lift Jacqueline O'Neill onto a gurney.

Although it had stopped by then, Daniel could still hear that horrible gurgling.

"Daniel," Jack snapped fingers in his friend's face. _What the hell's wrong with you? You've seen worse. Or maybe, _Jack thought, _it's seeing one of us with our insides on the outside. _"Come on, Daniel. She's in good hands. Let's clear medical. You with me?"

Daniel blinked at the man. How long had they been standing there? Long enough, he realized slowly, for Lynch to be taken away, for someone to have started wrapping up Kitching, for Connor and most of the off-world team to have moved on to medical.

Long enough for the blood to make his fingers stick together.

The rest of SG-1 and 101 were standing at the bottom of the ramp. Pale, shaken, waiting for him to join them. To go as a group. His team, waiting for him.

In reality, Daniel knew he belonged in the other direction, the one where the gurney had gone. Janet would likely wheel it directly into her surgery. But Daniel couldn't follow, couldn't go that way until he had been cleared. Jack was right. _There's nothing I can do there, _he told himself, _except stand and hope and wait for Janet to come out and tell us something. _At least, that's what he told himself so he could move, so his feet would carry him in the other direction. One step, another, falling in beside Jack.

All the while, his ears were still filled with that horrible sound.

_Better to think of something else_. Think of Jacqueline's voice over the radio, that mocking O'Neill tone as she gave Jack a hard time, the sly wink she had given him before he left her behind. Think back to Sunday, when Jack's phone call had woken them up and she had twined her legs with his and her touch had brought him instantly and fully awake.

Better to move with his friends and remember other things as he removed clothes and washed away blood and three days of living on another planet, then waited his turn for an MRI.

They overheard one of the nurses mention to another that J.C. coded again on the operating table.

Dani sniffled. She turned to Daniel and buried her face in his chest, holding tightly. "Not today," her words were muffled against his middle.

_She's not dead yet, _Daniel thought, his hands curling, remembering the way flesh had felt so very wrong. _No, think of Sunday, or last Friday night_. The pair of them on the couch watching a hockey game, the way Jacqueline's shoulder fit the palm of his hand. She looked so rough and coarse, like Edwards described, an old warhorse, but she was so very soft. _Like all of us, so very fragile._

Dani finally let him go. "Thanks, Daniel."

He couldn't answer, couldn't imagine what he had done she would thank him for.

Finally cleared by medical, Jack departed, Lynch and Anderson foremost on his mind. He had to debrief with Hammond, make sure the prisoner was secure, find that device.

The others relocated to the medical observation room to wait. A mistake on Daniel's part. He had a full view of the operating room, and the image was seared into his memory: so much blood, so much tubing and wires and metal. Yet, he couldn't pull his eyes away.

Bare bones of business covered with the general, Jack was free to join them there. "You guys need some food," he said. "Something hot. Let's take a break, head down to the cafeteria."

Daniel couldn't move. He felt Danielle press her face into his back, unable to look, arms around his waist from behind.

It was Samuel and Teal'c who went down to bring back sandwiches, Samantha who went to Danielle's office to get some decent coffee for the observation room coffee maker.

Daniel didn't want anything. He couldn't eat. His body was still down there, where Janet was doing something with tiny metal instruments. Someone pressed a mug into his hands. The warmth felt good. He set the mug aside when it had cooled.

Janet was finally pulling off gloves, adjusting coverings, a nurse changing bloodstained ones. Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Frasier joined the others upstairs. "You're listed as next of kin," she told Jack.

Jack nodded, opened hands to include everyone else. "Tell us what you know, Doc."

"The new ceramics in the vest didn't provide nearly the coverage against the P-90 as the old Kevlar would have. The round shattered ribs on her left side, collapsed a lung, did some internal damage. I've ventilated and induced a coma to keep her still. We're sending her up to critical care. We'll know more in forty-eight hours."

Daniel could hear the unspoken, _if she makes the next forty-eight hours._

Jack started, "Will she—?"

"I don't know," Janet said. "We'll have to wait and see." She looked at the others. "Does anyone know how to contact her boyfriend?"

"She was supposed to bring him this weekend," Dani said absently. "We were going to meet him."

"We should probably find a way to notify him."

"I'll check her cell phone," Jack said. "There might be a number."

"I'm—" Daniel's voice caught. He cleared his throat. He wasn't ashamed of it; it shouldn't be hard to say. "I'm the boyfriend."

Eyes went his way. Jack's face wrinkled. "What?"

Daniel couldn't look his friends. If he looked, if he saw their sympathy, their understanding, he was going to lose it. He couldn't lose it yet. Not until he had seen her. "I'm sorry." Voice cracking a little bit. He closed eyes. "I'm sorry not to tell you sooner. It's just, you guys were having so much fun tweaking each other. I just . . ."

"Oh, Daniel." Dani's arms went around him again.

He could barely feel her against him. Forced eyes open, focused on Janet. He could keep it together if he just focused on one thing. "Could I see her? Can I _touch_ her?" Felt his mouth go wrong. Trembling. Didn't dare say anything else.

Janet's eyes softened, which almost undid him anyway. She held out a hand. "Of course, Daniel. This way."

He slipped out of Dani's arms.

The doctor took him down to the little room, where he could now hear the steady beeping of monitors, the respirator at work. Where he could see close up the tubes that came out from under the sheets, a drain in her side in addition to the catheter and I.V., and the wires, the sensors that connected to chest, to finger, the tube that went down her throat and held her jaw askew, the connection for the oxygen hose.

So pale. Jacqueline's skin was cool under his fingertips, her flesh slack in a sleep too deep for her to respond. He stroked her hair, the same cut as Jack's, so uncomplimentary butch. He took her lax hand in his, leaned down, lips next to her ear, said her name. "_Ma petit filet_." Kissed the corner of her mouth. Rested like that for a few minutes. He was so very tired. What had he done to be tired? "I'll see you in your new room, _oui_?"

_I'm going to kill them both, _Jack thought as he watched Daniel. _If Lynch didn't just do the job._

"What," whispered Dani hoarsely, "will Hammond say?"

Jack swallowed. "I'll tell him." Who cared what the general _said_? Not when their asses were going to be stripped and used to wallpaper the man's office. _No, she better get well so I can kill her myself._

But when Jack dragged himself up to his superior's office, Hammond surprised him. "I've known for some time, Jack." Under different circumstances, the general might have enjoyed the look on O'Neill's face. He explained, "After PL8-236, she kept the air clear with me. At both her and Dr. Jackson's request, we kept it between them."

Jack raised eyebrows. "At Dr. Jackson's request?" _Really?_

"They both discussed it with me at about the same time." Actually, Jackson had been a few weeks later, but close enough. The civilian couldn't be expected to understand the complexities of military discipline. "I've been very careful to keep their missions separate since then."

Except for this one. And Jack had clearly been in command on this one. _She was the one that suggested the Jacksons not go at all. _Jack chewed the inside of his cheek. _Yes, I'm definitely killing both of them. _"That's good to know, sir."

Those first forty-eight hours, by unspoken consensus, the members of SG-1 and 101 arranged to be there with Daniel for his bedside watch. They spelled him for the hours that he tried to sleep, sat with him when he couldn't.

Dani knitted, chatting amiably with nurses and passing staff. Daniel heard her say once to the unconscious patient, "Don't think I don't know you just did this to get out of bringing your boyfriend over on Saturday. I told you you'd chicken out."

Teal'c sat quietly, watching with that infinite patience only he possessed. The Carters played cards, sometimes with each other, sometimes with Daniel, sometimes solitaire. Jack made sure Daniel went down to the cafeteria and ate something.

"If you don't get well," Jack told J.C. when the others were gone, "I'm taking that hog and going dirt biking. You know what that will do to the frame, right? Yeah. So you just think about me wiping out in the mud pits, scratching up that paint. Might even hit something. Hope you got good insurance."

When he was thinking a little more clearly, Daniel himself looked at the x-rays, cornered Janet at some point for a more clear prognosis. It was all hour by hour.

Only luck brought in one of their off world allies. Jacob Carter had Tok'ra business with Hammond. On that second day, when Janet still wasn't sure her patient would make another forty-eight hours, Samantha brought out the Goa'ould healing device and Selmak did what he could.

Bones knit. Internal tissues mended, scarring was minimized. X-rays confirmed the minor miracle that so quietly arrived.

Janet removed the drainage hose, stuck on a butterfly bandage. Cut off the twilight drug in the I.V., disconnected oxygen supply, waited for the flutter of eyelids, called her patient by name, made sure she was breathing on her own, and finally extubated.

And Daniel could breathe again. For the first time in two days, he felt his own lungs fill, the closed-in hospital air tasting like something pure and sweet and good. "Thank you, Jacob," he whispered shakily. "Thank you, Selmak."

"You're welcome," Jacob replied for both of them.

As drugs dissipated in her system, it took a while for Jacqueline's eyes to focus, for much to make sense. She recognized Daniel, though, her hand finally closing on his, warming as blood pressure came back up. A dry, "Hey."

"Hey." He grinned, offered her an ice chip.

"Was I dreaming," she asked hoarsely, still only half awake, "or did you call me your little fish sandwich?"

He laughed, an ache in his chest easing. "That's not what _ma petit filet _means."

"Got a killer craving for Mickey D's right about now."

After Janet checked her over, tested tender ribs and read x-rays that showed still mending bones, the doctor had J.C. relocated to a regular room. The colonel took her pain meds like a good I.V. patient and went back to sleep. Normal, deep, breathing-on-her-own sleep.

Janet informed the waiting friends she expected a full recovery. "She'll just need some rehab and a few weeks for bones to finish healing. I want to monitor her another night. Just to make sure." To Daniel and Jack, "If someone's there, she can probably go home in the morning."

Teal'c was smiling, looking supremely pleased. Now that his friend would recover, it was no longer crass to announce, "I believe I have won Major Reynolds' pool."

"What?" Jacob looked from one to the other. "Who's the man?"

"Daniel," Dani supplied. "The crafty bastard."

"Damn. I was sure it was Dr. Lee."

Daniel looked at the Jaffa. "You're the one to bet on me?"

"Indeed. I also placed bets on Master Sergeant Siler, Sergeant Harriman, Dr. Lee, and Major Reynolds himself. Although the odds against you were far greater."

His face cracking into his second smile in days, Daniel clapped Teal'c on the shoulder. "God, Jacqueline is going to get a kick out of that."

"No wonder we haven't seen Reynolds around," Samuel noted. "I think the odds were, like, four hundred to one."

"Four hundred fifty three to one," Teal'c corrected. "I look forward to collecting my winnings."

"You're probably the only one who will get him to pay up."

Reynolds might debate the point that any member of SG-1 or 101 might have had inside knowledge, but not even a marine was going to argue with the big Jaffa. Besides, it could have been worse: Teal'c had only bet a dollar.

Daniel asked, "Can I stay at your place tonight, Jack?"

Jack knew immediately, _he doesn't want to be alone. _"Sure, pal."

It was a silent ride in Jack's truck. They didn't say much once inside either, but they had never needed to. A beer was offered and politely declined. Daniel just needed to crash, someplace that wasn't his empty apartment, someplace he could let his weary mind rest, where he could stop hearing that horrible gurgling sound. And if she hadn't stayed in Jack's spare room that much lately, the bed still smelled enough like J.C. to feel like home.

In the morning, over cold cereal and Jack's newspaper, Daniel could listen to the silence between them, assess how much damage he had done to their friendship. Yes, there it was. That little bit of tension. But it wasn't full scale twitchiness. Jack was angry, of that he had no doubt. There wouldn't be any discussing it, though. O'Neills did not discuss. They'd work it out in their own way in their own time, and once it was settled in their mind, they would never acknowledge for a moment that there had ever been a problem.

At least not between him and Jack.

Between Jack and J.C., Daniel would just have to wait and see how bad the storm would be. "Thanks, Jack. For letting me crash here."

"Hotel O'Neill is always open to you, Daniel."

Back at the hospital, Jack had to wait until Daniel had gone for coffee before he could sit down beside the patient's bed. "They found a device on both Lynch and Anderson," he told her.

Jacqueline's eyes closed in relief. _I didn't kill an innocent man._ "How did Reynolds take it?"

"Like an officer."

Which meant, J.C. mentally translated, Reynolds was probably still in self-recrimination mode, wondering why he hadn't seen it himself, caught it sooner.

Jack looked down at hands folded between his knees. "We think Lynch might have gotten the idea from Aris Boch. Most likely, he was contacted someplace like New Enkara or Edora by someone hiding amid our allies. We're still looking for answers on that one, but he's not talking."

"You have a go at him?"

"Oh yeah. There's some discussion about whether that tidbit is worth commuting the death penalty for a life sentence instead. Give us a little time, we may find out how he was contacted just by retracing his steps."

J.C. hoped so. Because the bastard had cost them a good man in Kitching, not to mention the slow to heal damage of self doubt in the SGC.

Jack's next words were so soft, she almost missed them. "Why Daniel?"

Granted, she had just woken up, and the only discussion of import she had was with Janet about how she was healing and what she could expect. Obviously other things had happened while she was down. So, Jack knew now. _Why Daniel, indeed?_ "It wasn't exactly planned."

Slowly, anger putting an edge on the words. "Daniel is not some motorcycle you can enjoy while you're here and then leave behind."

"No. He's not."

"Then what is it you think you're doing?!"

"I knew you'd over react."

"You couldn't have shown a little restraint?"

"Oh, I can see what this is. I am so reading between the lines on that report now."

"What report?"

"Edora. What happens in the field stays in the field, right?"

_Laira. How the hell does she know?_ Then, _How dare she bring Laira into it._ Voice low, "That. Is none of your damn business."

"Backatcha, Jack."

Jack was out of the chair, walking away. Walking away before he succumbed to the temptation to yell. He passed Daniel in the hall without a word.

But there were words later. Oh yes there were. But not for a while.

First J.C. had time to recover. Janet set her up with rehab and physical therapy and released her. Jacqueline lounged at Daniel's while the others went back to work. She was unable to accompany Daniel to his old professor's funeral or help him try to save his old flame Sarah Gardner. She didn't even learn until much later about the NID involvement in Hammond's brief "retirement". Damn Jack for not involving her in that one.

She stopped by his house for some clothes, using that excuse to corner him over his beer. "You could have said something," she accused. "Jesus Christ, Jack, you went to _Maybourne_ for help before you reached out to me?"

"He has a little more, ah, _integrity,_" Jack said pointedly. Not that she could have helped in the same way he had needed Maybourne.

J.C. glared at him for a moment, but he didn't take eyes off the hockey game.

When she didn't leave anything behind in the spare bedroom, Jack thought, _Message sent and received_.

J.C. was notably absent at beer and pizza night. The others asked about her, but Daniel heard no questions from Jack.

The first couple times she didn't want to go, Daniel passed on the excuses she had given him, that she was tired from rehab. To a certain extent, he bought it himself; there were times when any one of them had passed on going to gatherings to get in a little extra recovery time. And she was so very pale at first. "I'm old," she told him at one point. "Takes longer to heal than you youngsters think."

Daniel had never heard Jack admit anything of the sort, but then, Jack hadn't had most of a lung and some ribs ground up in his chest, either. The next time, though, he called Jacqueline on it. "You're avoiding Jack."

"Yes I am."

"The others miss you. Can't you two kiss and make up?"

"Just stay out of it, Daniel. He's your best friend. He'll be there for you when I'm gone."

"That is the most pathetic excuse for avoidance I've ever heard. If you're doing this for me, think how much happier I'll be with my two best friends getting along."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not capitulating to him on this. He's the one who needs to bend."

"Oh, is that what this is about? It's more important to be right than to be happy?"

"In this case, yes. Just let it go."

_I can't do that. _"Surely you two could at least stand in separate corners and pretend to be civil for a few hours on a Saturday. For the rest of us."

"We'll see."

"That better really mean you intend to try, and not just words you use to string me along for months on end."

"It means we'll see. But not right now."

A week later was the first skirmish.

Janet had cleared her for light duty, and J.C. attended her first Monday morning staff meeting. Hammond should have known something was up when neither O'Neill filled their note pages with doodles. They were almost too focused on what the other officers were saying as the general solicited opinions on projects from his staff.

In an unusual show of impatience, Jack cut off a response of Reynolds.

J.C. snorted. "The man was about the say the same thing, Jack. You couldn't let him finish?"

"You haven't been here in a while," Jack said. "Why don't you stick to commenting on things you've actually read the report about?"

"He's head of his own field team, you know. You could loosen the sphincter and let him make some decisions."

Hammond looked from one to the other. This was not like the O'Neills at all. He had never seen them so much as disagree, much less snipe. He didn't like it. No, he did not.

But, Hammond told himself, they were all occasionally short with each other, and near death experiences could change an officer, not always for the better. In this case, he let it pass, assuming it was a onetime thing. The general cleared his throat and moved his meeting along.

The next week, both SG-1 and 101 were in the field, so Hammond thought nothing of the matter again until his staff meeting the next Monday morning.

Jack scowled at his counterpart. "You can't put Pinkerton with Friedman."

J.C. shrugged, finished handing the assignment request to the general. "I've had some success with it."

"Maybe in Bizzaro World," Jack mocked, "but in case you haven't noticed, you're not there anymore."

"It's my back-up team. I can make my own choices."

"Did you ask Freddy Mac if she was good with it?"

"Well, unlike you, I actually discuss things with my people, so I have some idea what's going on."

"Colonels," Hammond frowned in warning, "do we have a problem here?"

"Just pointing out the potential for one, sir," Jack said.

"None here, sir," J.C. denied.

The general looked from one to the other. "You know," he said across the table full of officers, "both of you working in tandem _used to be _good for the morale of this base. Am I making myself clear here, Colonels?"

Slightly out of sync, "Yes sir."

Whatever the hell was going on with them, he had to give them the opportunity to settle it themselves. Generals were not sandbox referees.

The next few weeks, SG-1 was stuck on P4X-347, and things went so smoothly at the SGC, it wasn't until the O'Neills were actually yelling at each other in the hallway that Hammond realized he was a little hasty in assuming they had set aside their differences.

"You had no right," J.C. confronted Jack outside of medical, "not to let Daniel talk to me through the MALP."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Jack returned, "the Stargate is not your personal phone line. Base communications are restricted to business purposes, Colonel."

"You denied us the only contact we could have had for three weeks. That was petty and shitty."

Drawn by the raised voices, the rest of SG-1 and 101 stood just inside of medical's doorway. Daniel stepped forward, but J.C. pointed at him. "Stay out of this."

"Well," Jack said bitterly, "for some reason, he can't exactly do that now, can he?"

"I'm not the asshole putting him in the middle."

"Fooled me."

"Is that what this comes to? Your little feelings are hurt because no one asked your permission?"

Voice rising, "You knew it was wrong or you wouldn't have been sneaking!"

"Um, guys," Daniel looked from one to the other, "do I get a say in this?"

Both O'Neills shouted, "No!"

Daniel sighed, rubbed temples. Despite being weaned off the addictive properties of the light on P4X-347, he was still headachy and worn out from the ordeal. Jack had to be feeling the same, but that was no excuse. It was hard to think, and while he was sure he had something to say, whatever it was would likely just add fuel to the fire. "I'm going home."

"I'll drive," J.C. offered.

"You know," Daniel winced, held up a hand, "I think I'll drive myself."

J.C. cast a glare at Jack before she turned and left.

"Nice," Dani commented.

Jack turned. She was the only one of the two teams still standing there, looking up at him through round lenses with those wide blue eyes. No happy dimples, he noticed. Nothing but concern, and perhaps a little fear. In all the time they'd been here, he had never seen Danielle look that way, at least at him. "Don't tell me," he said, still unreasonably angry, intentionally being crass, "she wouldn't be a little upset if I took you out for a spin."

"No." A little sadly, "I haven't been on a date in over four years. She'd probably throw me a party."

Okay, that cooled his temper a little. Danielle hadn't deserved that.

After a shower and change into street clothes, J.C. made it to her bike before Harriman caught up with her. "The general would like to see you in his office, ma'am."

She wasn't surprised to see Jack already there.

Hammond ignored them both for a moment, finishing up signing the stack of papers his staff sergeant had left him. Letting them stand silently in his displeasure. Then he tidied the stack, slid it into his out-box.

"Colonels," Hammond said finally, "we seem to have a problem."

"Problem?" the guilty parties said together, eyebrows raised. Realizing they had both spoken, eyebrows came down and they scowled at each other. Slowly, still saying the same thing at the same time, "We don't have a problem, sir."

"This problem you _don't_ have has gone on long enough. I will not allow whatever is between you two to continue to affect the morale of this base. You do not," he said pointedly, "want me to deal with this through official means."

There wasn't much to say to that. At least, not anything that they wanted to hear coming out of their counterpart's mouth at the same time.

"You are leaving me with no choice." The general stood up. "Come with me."

A silent walk to the elevator, the O'Neills trailing along after the general. If they hadn't been so focused on maintaining personal space between each other, they might have noticed the inordinate number of personnel they passed in the after-hours hallway. Into an elevator, up to level 25, and another walk down to the recreation room. The two MPs on either side of the door followed them in.

Hammond said bluntly, "You've had plenty of opportunity to handle this matter otherwise, and so it has come to this. Before you leave this room, it will be settled."

Jack looked around at the marine sparring equipment, realizing just how the general meant for them to handle it. "I don't hit girls."

J.C. shot, "That's the only reason I haven't hit you yet, Jack."

"Oh," he wasn't really smiling, "we are so not going there."

"There are no girls in this room." Hammond went over to the racks of equipment, chose two staffs, the kind with padded ends, and threw them down on the matt. "Only officers and gentlemen." Then he pulled up a stool and crossed his arms expectantly.

The two O'Neills glowered at each other. Together, "Now look what you've done. What _I've _done?! You pissed him—stop that!"

More glowering. A glance at the MPs. There to intervene only if they stepped over the line and started actually killing each other.

It occurred to Jack just how much leeway there was between there and the killing point.

Deliberately, J.C. removed her bike jacket, folding it over the handles of an exercise bike. Undid chaps.

"You are not doing this," Jack said. "We are not eighteen years old."

She went over to the sticks, kicked one end up with a booted foot, caught it. Spun the tool, body remembering its bulk, the heft. "Wouldn't do it all if you would quit being such an asshole."

"_I'm_ the asshole? Let's not forget who started this."

Flexing ankles and knees, to feel how boots allowed her to bend, J.C. was not going to have this argument in front of McGill and Danvers and General Hammond. "Oh, I haven't. Believe me, I haven't."

_If that's the way she wanted to play it, fine._ Jack stripped off his jacket. He could do it this way, oh yes he could, and little Miss Jaysus Christ O'Neill was going to get a lesson she wouldn't forget.

J.C. kicked the other stick his direction.

He popped an end up as she had.

Her weight shifted on the mat, foot making a small sound as it was planted, giving him just enough of a warning that when her staff came in hot and low, he had time to twist hips slightly, interpose his own weapon to block. His stick was knocked against his thigh, jarring him oh-so-close to the family jewels.

Up in the security room, where there was only room for SG team leaders, a room full of men groaned and pulled knees together in sympathy at the barely avoided groin shot, while Freddy Mac pumped her fist and hissed, "Yesss!" At the look shot from her coworkers, she frowned and said mildly, "Oh, bad. Boo. Very bad."

Down in the rec room, Jack thought, _oh yes,_ _she's out to bust my balls. _Teeth gritted, he shoved back, sliding haft up hers, trying to catch fingers. _Backatcha!_

Jacqueline pushed away, stepping back, breaking contact.

They paced, circling, guard up, eyes hot. A mirrored feint, shifted stance, a sudden backing, starting to charge, aborting, another feint, another half-started attack.

Jack suppressed the thought that this actually felt good. She so deserved the beating she was going to get.

The problem with thinking so much alike, however, was they could readily guess the other's move, knew just how they were transmitting their own. For a moment, neither was able to close. Then, thinking at the same time, _the hell with it, _they both leveled a right side swing. Both accepted the blow to close, other end of staff brought up to at least partially block, and both were jarred by the incoming on the outside of upper arm.

Jack brought up a knee, protecting groin. J.C. twisted and her forearm caught the side of his face. Which was fine; he turned his head so that he only partially saw stars. Her move left her middle open for a forward punch. He heard a satisfying grunt even as he backed off, his left ear ringing.

A moment of pacing as J.C., slightly hunched, caught her breath. Jack shook off the head shot.

Down in the movie hall, where Siler had wired the big-screen for the video feed, the odds shifted in Jack's favor as ones and fives changed hands.

The combatants closed again, a sudden flurry of blows that would have taken either's head off if any had landed, and suddenly they locked sticks.

J.C. hooked a leg behind his and Jack went down on his ass. He rolled, thrust the padded end at her feet, was blocked and had to block the overhand blow of her stick. His turn to hook her leg. She angled her fall, came down on the inside of his thigh with her knee, and hot liquid pain throbbed along femur from knee up into his crotch. A groan slipped past Jack's teeth. He swung his other leg up and kicked her in the back, a solid thump that sent her over him. They rolled apart.

Teal'c shook his head at the big screen. That injury did not look promising for his colonel. "Another dollar on Jacqueline O'Neill."

"Popcorn?" Dani offered.

Teal'c helped himself to a handful from her bag.

Jack's leg didn't want to take his weight. He wobbled for footing. _Oh, that's not good. _Not good at all.

J.C. straightened, shaking off the blow to the back. Her left arm was sluggish.

Abruptly, Jack closed while she was still working that muscle, even though his leg dragged. Locked sticks again. She snaked a hand for his head, but he lowered his head, butted her chest, let go of staff to get in one, two rabbit punches on her ribs. And, yeah, maybe he had a little knuckle action in there with his fists. _That was for the elbow to the face._

He rabbitted a few more knuckle fists before her boot scraped down the inside of his shin and it felt like a goddamn mule planted a foot on his instep. _Something definitely broke there. _ He growled and shoved her away. _Son of a bitch!_

Gasping, they backed away, bent to catch breath.

Samuel winced at the screen. "That took some skin off."

And Jack was hobbling. But Samantha had seen him come back from worse. "Another buck on Jack," she threw into the pool.

"Bets are closing," Harriman advised. Combatants were getting sloppy, moves exaggerated. The end wasn't far.

Jack scooped up his stick. The thing weighed a goddamn ton. Deliberately, letting her know he didn't have to, kicked hers toward her.

J.C. gave him a _fuck you _look. Took a minute to hook an end up with her foot.

He started to close again. She held up a hand.

_The hell he was waiting for her to get ready_. If she was off balance, if she couldn't defend herself, then he could commit to a full body blow every bit as hot and hard as the first one she had leveled at him.

Only she stepped into it. _She shouldn't have stepped into it,_ Jack thought; it wasn't a good strategy to take a hit that hard just to close. At least, that's what he thought right up until the padded end of her stick came up into his face.

A double impact. He felt his stick thump solidly across her ribs. At the same time, his vision erupted with stars.

Jack landed flat on his back, out cold.

Some wounded animal noise came out of J.C. She folded over, went down on one knee. Short, quick breaths didn't hurt as much. _Damn it. I just healed those. _And, yes, rib bones were not supposed to move that way. Okay, her tactic hadn't been the best. But who was out cold on the floor? _I only wish I was._

Hammond held up a hand at the MPs. It was over. Danvers let in the medics.

The first medic checked for a broken neck, then rolled Jack onto his side, into a recovery position, to keep the blood bubbling from his broken nose from choking him. Jack was gurneyed out, but J.C. wasn't about to take a jarring ride with loose ribs flat on her back, insisting on walking.

Janet took one look and sent them both straight into x-ray.

As he came to, Jack groaned, hand going to his throbbing face. She had broken his goddamn nose.

Janet, standing over him, was not pleased. "Here, let me fix that."

"Gaaah!" Had the little sadist really needed to wait until he was conscious to pop his nose back into place? Someone in the bed next to his tittered. As Janet moved out of the way, Jack could see J.C. sitting up, hands gripping the edge of the bed, breathing shallow, letting him know he had scored in some painful way, at least.

Making eye contact, they said together, "Asshole."

A snort.

"I'm glad someone's amused." Dr. Frasier scowled at them both.

As she walked away with quick, irritated steps, Hammond stepped into the space between the beds. He looked from one to the other. "This will not be spoken of again."

Together, "No sir."

"Because it will not _need _to be spoken of again."

"No sir."

At that, the general left.

Silence. A painful catching of breath as blood cooled and bruises began to congeal. Jack's neck was beginning to stiffen up in an all too familiar way. Wasn't going to be moving tomorrow. Not much of him would be. Being older sucked.

J.C. finally said, "Did you have to hit the same spot? Repeatedly?" At his wolfish grin, she laughed, winced. Damn that hurt.

He frowned a little at that. "Broken?"

"Oh yeah. But, hey, I made you prettier."

"Heh." A little laugh from him, which jarred his swelling nose.

A pause. "Think we could sneak out of here while Janet's gone?"

"She's pissed enough. Better just stay here and die for a while."

"Good plan."

Which was how Daniel found them.

J.C. was struck, as she often was, by how beautiful he was. She had plenty of time to watch his approach from the hallway, to appreciate the cut of his jeans, the way his chorded sweater complimented his eyes. From the look on his face, he wasn't in the mood to hear how gorgeous he was.

"So," he said casually. "I wason my way home, and I get this phone call. Dani said, _'I think they're trying to kill each other.'_"

"We weren't trying to kill each other," J.C. said quickly. Looked at Jack. "Were we trying to kill each other?"

"Well," Jack considered, "you did hit me with your forearm, not your elbow."

"Thank you for noticing."

"Elbow would have hurt."

"You do what you can."

"Padded sticks," Jack pointed out. "Used padded sticks."

"See?" J.C. looked at him. "No killing here."

"Uh-huh." Daniel crossed arms. "So I said to Danielle, _'You can't be talking about our O'Neills. Our O'Neills are two of the most mature, congenial, reasonable people I know. They might try to mock each other to death, but resort to violence? No.'_"

"I am so on your side."

Jack muttered, "Suck up."

"Damn skippy."

"So," Daniel continued conversationally, eyes sliding over to Jack, "how's the leg?"

Throbbing, swollen, probably would never bend again. "Oh, fine," Jack lied. "Just fine."

"And the foot?"

"Good." _Wait a minute. _"How did you—?"

Daniel pointed meaningfully up at the security camera.

_Crap. _Jack knew better than almost anyone else, even the rec-room was wired.

"Dani and Siler were actually selling popcorn."

J.C. waved a hand. "How much did you see?"

Daniel pursed his lips. "Pretty much all of it."

"Yes!" A victory fist. "I kicked his ass."

"Oh, please," Jack scowled at her. "I so kicked yours."

"Who was out cold?"

"Consensus," Daniel said dryly, "was it was a draw."

Both O'Neills, "I want a recount."

"I suppose," Janet said as she came back, "it depends on how you keep score." Janet shoved x-rays onto the light-box between beds. "You, Colonel," she tilted her head toward Jack, "have a broken nose and a broken bone in your foot." She traced the long bone of his instep on the x-ray. "Oh, and that knee surgery you've been putting off for the last six months?" Her smile wasn't one. "I've scheduled that for tomorrow morning. You're looking at six weeks of rehab. Again."

Damn. She was finally getting her clutches on him. Well, a man couldn't run forever, Jack supposed, although he'd given it his best shot.

"You, on the other hand," Janet jerked down Jack's film and popped up J.C.'s, "have a few more breaks."

Even from where he was, Jack could see the fine lines radiating from multiple impact points, at least two spider web centers where he had knuckle-punched hard enough for her to feel it. That was wrong on so many levels. He had been hitting hard, but, except for that last shot, ribs were strong enough to take it. Or should have been.

"When I first saw this, I thought I was looking at an osteopirhosis patient," Janet was saying. She shook her head at the slightly panicked look on J.C.'s face. "No, you've shown no previous signs for osteo. I think this is a result of the handheld Goa'ould healing device.

"Usually," she traced some of the brighter lines, "when you break a bone, it heals back over the break more solidly than anywhere else. But for months old breaks, these are still pretty thin. What I suspect is, when the healing was quickened, your body leeched trace minerals from other nearby bones, thinning them. You've been replacing what you've lost slowly, but not in the concentrated way used for the repairs. I'm betting that's why you have three re-broken ribs and an entire ribcage worth of hairline fractures."

"Is this, ah," J.C. waved a hand, "something permanent? I mean, you said it wasn't—wasn't that thing."

Typical O'Neill courage, Janet thought. To skip the scary words. "I think we'll treat it like osteo. There are some new drugs that have actually made bones stronger than average in healthy patients. We're looking at ten days on the fractures, and I think we'll forgo any more help from the Tok'ra on those breaks. Which," she glanced at Jack, "on the damage scale, tilts the score in your favor."

Jack didn't wrinkle his throbbing nose. "I didn't need help from a damned snake head."

"That last blow would have broken anyone's ribs."

"You saw that?"

"I was watching the replay while your film developed."

"Replay?"

"Siler recorded it."

"Ooh," J.C. perked, "I wanna see!"

"I'm sure you can," Daniel said dryly, "once you cough up the twenty bucks Dani and Siler are charging for the commemorative DVD."

J.C. protested, "That's extortion!"

"I want royalties," Jack injected.

"I think you both," Janet replied in disgust, "will have to be content with painkillers and bandages. That's more payment than either one of you deserve."

When Janet went over to make arrangements with her staff, Daniel moved next to J.C.'s bed. Touched her face, then tenderly placed a kiss at her temple.

She frowned at his pinched expression. "Still headachy?"

"Yeah." Watching the two of them damage each other hadn't helped. He needed a dark room and some quiet more than anything. "Think I'll ask Janet for something better than Tylenol and I'll find a spare bunk on base."

As Janet returned, drawing the curtain around J.C.'s bed, Daniel moved over to Jack's. He looked down at his friend, at the ugly lump of swelling between his eyes even as one of the nurses delivered a cold pack for it.

Jack looked back up at him, half expecting recriminations from the one person who was not at all amused. He had to admit, he probably deserved some of them.

But Daniel just put a hand on his shoulder, gripped briefly. "I'll stop by your place in the morning and pick up some clothes." He knew how Jack hated hospital gowns. "The rest of us will be over for your post-op. I think Sam's transferring some Simpsons to a laptop for you, and Dani was trying to decide between bringing you War and Peace or Moby Dick."

Jack had to respect that particular kind of Jackson subtlety. "How about an Aliens vs. Predator book?"

"I'll suggest that," Daniel returned. "But I think you'll have to be content with whatever you get. You'll let us know what else you need."

The usual. Jack said, "Thanks."

In short order, both patients were bandaged and appropriately doped up. Janet gave Daniel another once over, then let him have something to help him sleep.

"Thanks, Janet." Daniel paused again at Jack's bed. "Night, Jack."

"Night." Jack watched his friend move once more to the bed next to his, planting another one of those tender kisses on J.C.'s temple, then her mouth.

"Sleep tight," J.C. told him softly.

Daniel pressed his forehead to hers. "Sleep better if you were there."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Maybe tomorrow."

"Yeah." And then Daniel went in search of a quiet, dark room to get some sleep.

It wasn't until later, after Janet was gone and the nurses were busy elsewhere, right about the time that Jack started to drift off to sleep, that J.C. said tiredly, "I love you, Jack, but I can live without you. I don't want to imagine living without Daniel."

That was perhaps the hardest blow to take. With all its implications. Slowly, "And when you leave?"

"We leave every time we go through the gate. It's the coming home part that's a miracle. That's precious to me every time it happens."

Fair enough. It was as much, he supposed, as any of them could ask for. "Don't you forget that, either."

188

"I won't."

188


	10. Chapter 10

Part 11. Reshuffle.

Both O'Neills were going to be down for no less than six weeks, which irked Hammond less at the moment than it would have any other time of the year. It was November, and he preferred to have as many off world teams home for the holidays as possible. Thus, this year, he was entirely justified in shutting down operations from mid-November until after Christmas. There were still teams out, of course, doing construction at the Alpha Site, and there was always someone manning the base systems at the SGC. But, for the first time since its inception, operations were justifiably quiet through the month of December.

Jack had his knee surgery and started rehab before Thanksgiving, so he was hobbling with a cane by the time the Carters drove him over to Janet's for Thanksgiving Dinner. He complained at every opportunity about the challenges of rehab on one leg while suffering with a broken foot on the other.

J.C. retaliated by flinging peas at him. 

"Why are you scowling at me?" Jack asked Janet. "She's the one got peas on the carpet."

Yet, no one leaped to defend his innocence, although Samantha wisely moved the peas out of reach to keep J.C. from getting reloads.

Amid the typical Christmas gift exchanges of gift cards and homemade goodies, Dani and Teal'c played Santa Claus with matching hats and scarves knit for everyone from Harriman to the just recently settled in Nyan. "How did you manage to get so many made?" Jack wondered. Even with Teal'c's contribution, the sheer volume was impressive.

"I don't sleep much," Dani told him.

She had also made some sketches. She and Daniel drew a lot for their journals, mostly capturing the shape of inanimate objects or the structure of writing, but never portraits. The drawings certainly weren't professional grade, but the likenesses were good enough to frame. Included in those handed out was a picture of both O'Neills, grinning like madmen over a pair of crossed hockey sticks.

J.C. wanted to know, "Why am I the one in the Redwings jersey?"

"Because the Rockies are the home team," Jack said smugly. "It's called a metaphor."

"You certainly captured their competitive nature," Janet commented.

"I made that one before the duel," Dani said dryly. "I suppose I could go back and add the contusions."

Then there was a sketch of Teal'c decked out like a Star Wars fanboy, complete with Vader t-shirt. "That's my favorite," Dani confided. "I thought I did a great job on the popcorn bucket."

"You did indeed," Teal'c rumbled. "I particularly like the touch of color." She had used red pencil on the bucket stripes as well as the light saber, adding something to the otherwise monochrome piece.

"Nicely understated," Daniel observed.

"Thank you," Dani smiled, an odd touch of color in her cheeks at the praise.

She had drawn Janet asleep on her sun deck, the doctor in a familiar face down pose of working on having no bikini lines while reading a book. But the most moving of all were the pictures she gave Samuel, a half dozen close ups and the only pictures in this world he was going to have of his daughters.

"Nice looking girls," Jack commented.

He sniffled over the frames. "This one's really good," he said of the one that included both.

"Dani said you always had pictures in the lab," Samantha said. "You're welcome to hang them there. Maybe that's what's been missing in your mojo," she tapped his shoulder with a fist, "not having them look over your shoulder when you're thinking."

He laughed at that. "Yeah. My Annabelle, she's a taskmaster."

"She is just born to be a marine drill sergeant," J.C. commented.

"Annabelle is USAF material, so I'm going to pretend that didn't come out of your mouth."

"Now, Sammy, you know I'm just saying that for your own good. The first step to acceptance is in recognizing that our offspring are not obligated to conform to our own expectations."

"You got that out of some random parenting manual. Just who," he looked accusingly at Dani, "let her wander that close to a bookstore?"

"Sorry, Sam," Dani grinned back. "I had to have the latest Michael Connolly and the Volvo was blinky."

At mention of a malfunctioning car, Samuel mentally changed gears. "Have you even changed the oil since you've been here?"

"I thought it ran on gas?"

Dryly, "Remind me to have a look at it before you head home. Thanks, Dani." He leaned down to kiss her temple, return her big hug. Held up a frame. "These are wonderful."

Once the Sams had put on jackets and gone outside to check on Dani's car, Daniel said to his counterpart, "Surely you know to change the oil?"

"Of course. But Sammy loves to take things apart and put them back together. That Volvo will be worth twice what I paid for it before the holidays are over."

And, Daniel had to admit, it gave the man something to do during their down time.

They were gathered around the fire, watching Teal'c's choice of "It's a Wonderful Life", when the two Carters got around to tossing ideas back and forth off to the side, talking in obscure techno-speak about gate travel, Doppler Shift, and control mechanisms, shaking their heads sadly at ideas they had turned over a hundred times.

"I am not," Samantha said with finality, "going to consult with McKay on this."

"No," Samuel said quickly. "God no."

"He doesn't tell you how hot you are, does he?"

Samuel laughed, pushed fingers through thinning hair. "I'm safe. For a dumb blonde."

A pause. And then both burst out laughing.

Jack looked over at J.C. "We don't do that, do we?"

J.C. lifted eyebrows. "What?"

He waved a hand. "That long pause when we're thinking the same thing as the other, and then—oh, never mind."

"Yes," Daniel supplied. "Yes, you do."

A little more Carter rambling during the movie, and J.C.'s temples had begun a low throb. "You know," she rubbed a cool beer bottle against her forehead, "I think you guys might be trying too hard on this parallel world gate travel thing."

Dani looked up from her knitting. "What do you mean?"

"Like, the whole having to figure out everything from scratch. The quantum mirror did all the things we're trying to do."

"Ma'am," Samuel said slowly, because he knew how many eggnogs had gone before that beer, "we don't have a quantum mirror."

"But we know where one was."

"Yeah. We destroyed it."

"So," slowly, as if explaining the obvious to a small child, J.C. returned, "we travel back in time to when it wasn't destroyed." When no one said anything, she opened her eyes and looked at the two Carters staring back at her. "I mean, we know how to do that, right? Override a gate lock during a solar flare—isn't that what you did?"

"And ended up in 1969," the Carters said. They paused, looked at each other.

"Forget it," J.C. waved a hand.

"No," the Carters said. Samuel looked at his C.O. "No, ma'am. I mean, there's a big danger to corrupting the timeline. But, if we went to P3R-233 before anyone here ever found the mirror—"

"There would be little threat to our timeline," Samantha finished for him, "if you weren't there long."

"The problem," Samuel turned to her, "is getting it back to Earth, where we can dial until we find the right reality. But once we had the setting, we could put it back on 233."

"You can gate back to a closer planet, but you'll need a ship from there."

"At least a teltac."

"But we do know where some _have been_."

"And there _are_ solar systems with more predictable flares."

Together, "P42-206."

Samantha, "We'd have to look at the charts—"

"Run simulations—"

"Back at the base." They were both on their feet.

"Happy Christmas," Jack said to the disappearing astrophysicists. A frown at J.C. "You couldn't have waited until Monday to tell them that?"

She held up hands. In truth, both of them were relieved not to have to listen to any more technospeak during the movie, and he knew it.

Excited by the new prospect, the Carters wasted no time abusing their rank to get into the base on a holiday. There was so much, both Carters knew, that could go wrong with such a plan. Every logical step had a risk. A risk to the timelines, in not knowing exactly where or when they could end up, despite simulations and math that could more reliably predict the effects of a solar flare. A risk in how they might get hands on a ship, which could either lead to capture or death if they had to steal one, or to corrupting the timeline if they dared to contact the Tok'ra or other allies in the past.

But to Samuel, the idea was suddenly the light at the end of the tunnel. His team had succeeded on risky missions before. There was no reason not to pull an assessment together to present to Hammond. It was, after all, not his place to decide what constituted too much risk. As his colonel had pointed out, that was her job. His job was to champion the idea, a task made much easier as he and his counterpart had, for once, plenty of time to focus on simulations, to eliminate bad math and to prepare counterarguments.

And so, on the first Monday after New Years, he was able to present the general with a written report, complete with a requisition for the things they would need.

Before presenting to everyone else, however, Hammond called J.C. into his office, gave her a moment to look over the brief, and solicited her opinion.

"It's a dumb idea, sir," she told him. At his look, she explained, "I know because I'm the one that thought of it. But Sammy sure makes it look smart on paper."

"You think I should nip this thing in the bud?"

They should. They really should. And yet, they couldn't sit on their asses doing nothing forever. "No, sir. If we're ever going to get out of your hair, sir, we have to try something."

"As soon as you're fit for the field," Hammond told her, "you'll have a go, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir."

They held their team briefing on a Tuesday morning, although all members of 101 were familiar with it by then. They were scheduled for departure at 0800 on Wednesday.

That night Jacqueline lay, legs twined with Daniel's, neither in the mood for their usual light banter. "I don't want to go," she finally said.

There wasn't much he could say to that. "I know."

She might have cried a little bit after that, although if anyone had mentioned it, she would have denied it. Daniel knew he would later, that he just wanted to focus on the feel of her pressed against him while she was still there. They had sex—long, slow, lingering lovemaking that kept them up most of the night and made her cry a little more. He kissed away tears, savoring them, savoring everything about the moment, even this shared sorrow. He wanted to remember every detail about being there together.

Morning came too quickly. He noticed she put on his boxers under her clothes, and his Good Twin t-shirt under her button down. He smiled, knowing he was always going to think of her that way, as a woman wearing her most precious secrets next to her skin.

On base, it was all business. Or, rather, mostly business. The Carters were double checking the minimum of equipment Sam was taking, items from his pack spread all over the gate room floor. Marines who had served with J.C. held her captive in the commissary for some parting binge Tobasco drinking, which involved strange hooping and cheering and back slapping that everyone else had the sense not to ask about. Dani double checked Teal'c's knitting supplies, her fierce little hugs applied to anyone within reach.

J.C. surprised Jack with a hug, handing over the keys to her hog at last. "If this doesn't work, I expect to get that back in one piece."

Jack grinned. "I'll treat it with the same respect you treated my furniture."

"You know, I could still take it with me."

"Too late."

The wormhole was fired up. The plan was to gate back to P63-934, then gate in to P42-206, relying on the safety protocols in a real DHD rather than the SGC's cobbled system to get them into the solar-flare riddled system. From there Sam would do the follow up calculations on current flare activity and connect his laptop to override protocols in their attempts to gate back in time.

Once they had traveled back, they could worry about getting hands on a ship and finding their own reality through the mirror. The fact that Carter had numerous ideas on how to actually get a transport did nothing to undo the knot settled in Jacqueline's gut. She didn't like sloppy plans, and everything depended on them being able to find a ship—an unclear, sloppy prospect at best.

Nevertheless, they had done more with less before. As she had told Hammond, they had to try something.

"It was an honor, sir," J.C. told the general when he came down to see them off.

"Godspeed, Colonel," he told her.

One last look at Daniel. Daniel, who had stood by, letting her say her goodbyes, coffee mug in hand, both of them deliberately maintaining that space between them. Proving that he could stand there, that he was going to be okay, that he could do this, he wasn't going to fall apart in the gate room if she wasn't, a half smile already formed on his mouth at the sight of pink still visible at the throat of her BDUs.

Jacqueline grinned at him. "You keep being a pain in the ass to Jack now, you hear?"

He grinned back. "I'll be twice a pain in the ass the first few weeks, just so he won't get lonely because you're gone."

"Hey now," Jack started to protest. "I'm not missing anybody."

Daniel put an arm around his shoulders. "It'll be okay, Jack. I'm here for you, buddy."

And then the Visitors were walking up the ramp toward the event horizon. Suddenly, the three were gone.

Daniel stood there a moment, staring at the gate, sipping his coffee until the liquid light winked out. _She's not gone yet. It will be hours before they gate out from 206. Anything can happen between now and then. She might even come home._

Jack tapped his shoulder. "You okay?"

He glanced at his empty cup, realized the others were waiting on him. His friends. His team. Making sure he was okay. "Yeah. I got, uh, prep-work on M4C-862 waiting. You?"

"Oh, me too."

_Riiight. _Like Jack looked at anything more than five minutes before they were due to gate out. "Gonna go work out with Teal'c then, huh?"

The Jaffa rumbled, "I promised Colonel Jacqueline O'Neill that I would make certain he was fully recovered from his recent knee surgery."

"Oh, did you now?" Jack bit back on any expletives he might have vented at her little parting gift.

"Indeed."

"I got the preliminary MALP readings," Sam said to Daniel, "if you want to go over them with me."

"Great." Daniel waved his empty mug. "I'll bring the coffee."

Back in her lab, before Daniel arrived, Sam had time to look over the sketches Samuel had tacked up. And to take them down. Having them up had been his thing and she had let them stay because it made him feel more at home. She much preferred the clean lines of her own work space. Not for the first time, she wondered if her preference was because, while they reminded him of what he had, they made her think of what she didn't.

Deliberately, she took one of the pictures back out, the one with both her and Samuel with her father's face in the center. Samuel did look at lot like her dad, but she could see Jacob Carter in her own face, too. And there was that one bare space on the wall over here where it went rather nicely. At least for now.

It wasn't until it was time to go home, when Jack was limping his way down to the elevator, that Daniel fell in step beside him. He asked the older man, "Would you, uh, like to—"

"Pizza and a beer?"

"Sounds great."

"I'll drive," Jack told him. Already planning on staying over at his friend's that night, and the next. Just to be sure.

It wasn't until Daniel found the Evil Twin t-shirt between his sheets, stretched out in the space she usually occupied, that he had himself a good cry. Oh yes he did. Face buried in the article of clothing, inhaling her lingering scent. Despite Jack passed out on the living room couch, Daniel's little apartment was so damned empty.

And then, when he was wrung out on his private grief, he pulled the shirt on. Evil Twin. Jacqueline O'Neill. He curled up on his bed, touched the place she had filled only that morning, and sighed. "Wish you were here."

Jack ducked his head, standing out of sight in the hallway. There after being woken by those soft, private sounds, listening, just in case Daniel reached out. But Daniel hadn't. His long haired geeky friend wasn't the same boy that had first stepped through the gate a long time ago. No, he was a man who had lost a wife, saved the Earth multiple times, championed freedom in the universe. He was more than capable of handling his own grief.

Unlike old air force colonels, who didn't quite know what to do with themselves. Whose sole thought, as he slipped back off to the couch was, _me, too._


End file.
